Читать книгу Poems - Julia C. R. Dorr - Страница 31

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Agnes! Agnes! is it thus Thou, at last, dost come to us? From the land of balm and bloom, Blandest airs and sweet perfume, Where the jasmine’s golden stars Glimmer soft through emerald bars, And the fragrant orange flowers Fall to earth in silver showers, Agnes! Agnes! With thy pale hands on thy breast, Comest thou here to take thy rest?

Agnes! Agnes! o’er thy grave Loud the winter winds will rave, And the snow fall fast around, Heaping high thy burial mound; Yet, within its soft embrace, Thy dear form and earnest face, Wrapt away from burning pain, Ne’er shall know one pang again. Agnes! Agnes! Nevermore shall anguish vex thee, Nevermore shall care perplex thee.

Agnes! Agnes! wait, ah! wait Just one moment at the gate, Ere your pure feet enter in Where is neither pain nor sin. Thou art blest, but how shall we Bear the pang of losing thee? List! we love thee! By that word Once thy heart of hearts was stirred. Agnes! Agnes! By that love we bid thee wait Just one moment at the gate!

Agnes! Agnes! No! Pass on To the heaven that thou hast won! By thy life of brave endeavor, Up the heights aspiring ever, Whence thy voice, like clarion clear, Rang out words of lofty cheer; By thy laboring not in vain, By thy martyrdom of pain, Our Saint Agnes— From our yearning sight pass on To the rest that thou hast won!