When in my narrow cell I lie,
The long day’ s penance done at last,
I see the ghosts of days gone by,
And hear the voices of the past.
I see the blue-gray wood-smoke curled
From hearths where life has rhymed to love,
I see the kingdoms of the world —
The glory and the power thereof,
And cry, “Ah, vainly have I striven!”
And then a voice calls, soft and low:
“Thou gavest My Earth to win My Heaven;
But Heaven-on-Earth thou mayest not know!”
It is not for Thy Heaven, O Lord,
That I renounced Thy pleasant earth —
The ship, the furrow, and the sword —
The dreams of death, the dreams of birth!
Weary of vigil, fast, and prayer,
Weak in my hope and in my faith —
O Christ, for whom this cross I bear,
Meet me beside the gate of Death!
When the night comes, then let me rest
( O Christ, who sanctifiest pain! )
Falling asleep upon Thy breast,
And, if Thou wilt, wake never again!