The Catholic World Volume I Part 93

Glory to him, who evermore By truth and justice reigns; Who tears the soul from out its case, And burns away its stains!

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ANGEL.

They sing of thy approaching agony, Which thou so eagerly didst question of: It is the face of the incarnate G.o.d Shall smite thee with that keen and subtle pain; And yet the memory which it leaves will be A sovereign febrifuge to heal the wound; And yet withal it will the wound provoke, And aggravate and widen it the more.

SOUL.

Thou speakest mysteries; still methinks I know To disengage the tangle of thy words: Yet rather would I hear thy angel voice, Than for myself be thy interpreter.

ANGEL.

When then--if such thy lot--thou seest thy Judge, The sight of him will kindle in thy heart All tender, gracious, reverential thoughts.

Thou wilt be sick with love, and yearn for him, And feel as though thou couldst but pity him, That one so sweet should e'er have placed himself At disadvantage such, as to be used So vilely by a being so vile as thee.

There is a pleading in his pensive eyes Will pierce thee to the quick, and trouble thee.

And thou wilt hate and loathe thyself; for, though Now sinless, thou wilt feel that thou hast sinned, As never thou didst feel; and wilt desire To slink away, and hide thee from his sight; And yet wilt have a longing aye to dwell Within the beauty of his countenance.

And these two pains, so counter and so keen,-- The longing for him, when thou seest him not; The shame of self at thought of seeing him,-- Will be thy veriest, sharpest purgatory.

SOUL.

My soul is in my hand: I have no fear,-- In his dear might prepared for weal or woe.

But hark! a deep, mysterious harmony It floods me, like the deep and solemn sound Of many waters.

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ANGEL.

We have gained the stairs Which rise toward the presence-chamber; there A band of mighty angels keep the way On either side, and hymn the incarnate G.o.d.

ANGELS OF THE SACRED STAIR.

Father, whose goodness none can know, but they Who see thee face to face, By man hath come the infinite display Of thine all-loving grace; But fallen man--the creature of a day-- Skills not that love to trace.

It needs, to tell the triumph thou hast wrought, An angel's deathless fire, an angel's reach of thought.

It needs that very angel, who with awe Amid the garden shade, The great Creator in his sickness saw, Soothed by a creature's aid, And agonized, as victim of the law Which he himself had made; For who can praise him in his depth and height, But he who saw him reel in that victorious fight?

SOUL.

Hark! for the lintels of the presence-gate Are vibrating and echoing back the strain.

FOURTH CHOIR OF ANGELICALS.

Praise to the Holiest in the height, And in the depth be praise In all his words most wonderful; Most sure in all his ways!

The foe blasphemed the holy Lord, As if he reckoned ill, In that he placed his puppet man The frontier place to fill.

For even in his best estate, With amplest gifts endued, A sorry sentinel was he, A being of flesh and blood.

As though a thing, who for his help Must needs possess a wife, Could cope with those proud rebel hosts, Who had angelic life.

And when, by blandishment of Eve, That earth-born Adam fell, He shrieked in triumph, and he cried, "A sorry sentinel.

The Maker by his word is bound, Escape or cure is none; He must abandon to his doom, And slay his darling Son."

ANGEL.

And now the threshold, as we traverse it, Utters aloud its glad responsive chant.

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FIFTH CHOIR OF ANGELICALS.

Praise to the Holiest in the height, And in the depth be praise: In all his words most wonderful; Most sure in all his ways!

O loving wisdom of our G.o.d! When all was sin and shame, A second Adam to the fight And to the rescue came.

O wisest love! that flesh and blood Which did in Adam fail, Should strive afresh against the foe, Should strive and should prevail.

And that a higher gift than grace Should flesh and blood refine, G.o.d's presence and his very self, And essence all-divine.

O generous love! that he who smote In man for man the foe, The double agony in man For man should undergo;

And in the garden secretly, And on the cross on high, Should teach his brethren and inspire To suffer and to die.

-- 6.

ANGEL.

The judgment now is near, for we are come Into the veiled presence of our G.o.d.

SOUL.

I hear the voices that I left on earth.

ANGEL.

It is the voice of friends around thy bed, Who say the "Subvenite" with the priest.

Hither the echoes come; before the throne Stands the great angel of the agony, The same who strengthened him, what time he knelt Lone in the garden shade, bedewed with blood.

That angel best can plead with him for all Tormented souls, the dying and the dead.

ANGEL OF THE AGONY.

Jesu! by that shuddering dread which fell on thee; Jesu! by that cold dismay which sickened thee; Jesu! by that pang of heart which thrilled in thee; Jesu! by that mount of sins which crippled thee; Jesu! by that sense of guilt which stifled thee; Jesu! by that innocence which girdled thee; Jesu! by that sanct.i.ty which reigned in thee; Jesu! by that G.o.dhead which was one with thee; Jesu! spare these souls which are so dear to thee, Who in prison, calm and patient, wait for thee; Hasten, Lord, their hour, and bid them come to thee, To that glorious home, where they shall ever gaze on thee.

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SOUL.