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248 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Yet not as they, in sad mistrust or sceptic doubt—
for, oh, They looked in hope to the blessed saints, these dead
of long ago.
And, then, the churchyard, soft and calm, spread out
beyond the scene With sunshine warm and soothing shade and trees
upon its green; Ah ! though their cruel Church forbid, are there no
hearts will pray For the poor souls that trembling left that cold and
speechless clay ?
My God ! I am a Catholic ! I grew into the ways Of my dear Church since first my voice could lisp a
word of praise; But oft I think though my first youth were taught and
trained awrong, I still had learnt the one true faith from Nature and
from song!
For still, whenever dear friends die, it is such joy to
know They are not all beyond the care that healed their
wounds below, That we can pray them into peace, and speed them to
the shore Where clouds and cares and thorny griefs shall vex
their hearts no more.
And the sweet saints, so meek below, so merciful above; |
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