O! she is gone; and where shall burdened grief Pour forth her fountains for the soul's relief? Not to the dust to nourish earthly weeds: They yield no balsam while the spirit bleeds!
Not unto death let sorrow's waters flow, But to death's victor may the weeper go! His risen glory, chasing mortal gloom, Shows grief a rainbow, bending o'er the tomb.
Fair penitent, with rosary, And cross and veil, in gloomy cell, What guilty deed was done by thee, To cause thee here immured to dwell?
Come forward, and present thy cause; That we may clearly judge, and know If violated human laws Imprison and afflict thee so:
Or if it be some secret sin, That haunts thy contrite soul with fears; And here sequesters thee within The place of fasting, gloom, and tears?
Art thou the guiltiest of thy race? Why, thou art human, it is true; Which is alone enough for grace To have renewing work to do.
But, can devotion, warm and deep, Thy duty's bounds so closely set, That faith may plough, and sow, and reap By trials shunned, instead of met?
What ray of truth, revealed, would thus Make of a tender opening soul A close, dark blue convolvulus, And give its bloom this inward roll?
Dost thou the never-fading crown Of life and joy intend to win, By here supinely sitting down, Where others but the race begin?
And dost thou think to gain the palm By hiding from thy Saviour's foes; Or hope in Gilead's sacred balm A cure for self-inflicted woes?
I never saw a Nun before; And therefore claim indulgence now, If I presume to question more Than courtesy might, else, allow:
As one, then, who in darkness pleads, For light, I ask to be informed How, by a string of pegs and beads, A soul is raised, or fed, or warmed.
Tell me, thou sober _cabalist_, What is the potent, hidden charm Hung on that string, or in its twist Contorted, for repelling harm?
And is thy spirit kept so faint, It cannot mount to God above; But here must substitute a saint, In image, for a heavenly love?
Has He, who lived and died for us-- Whose gifts are light and liberty, Left in his Word the _mitimus_ That here confines and fetters thee?
Does He assign a living tomb For souls, endowed with vital grace; Or need surrounding convent gloom, To show the radiance of his face?