the church of the gesù.
37
Of bitter strife 'gainst fiendish snare—
Grim warfare in the name of God!
Grim warfare in the name of God!
Beyond this circle, waving plumes
And flashing helms were prostrate bent,
And thick the air with incense-fumes:
So passionately sweet, they lent
A fainting sense, half ravishment,
Half suffering, to the soul, as soft
The fragrant clouds were borne aloft.
On high the pealing anthem rung;
And first of faith and hope it sung,
Then sadder, sadder grew the strain—
As if the powers of hell prevailed,
It moaned in ecstasy of pain,
And through the solemn arches wailed;
Then sweet and clear, a single tone,
As if a seraph chanted lone,
Through thrilling cadences outpoured
A vibrating harmonious chord.
But 'mid the glory, dark to him,
And deaf to chant and choral hymn,
The poor pale corpse looked meek and mild,
And humble as a little child.
And flashing helms were prostrate bent,
And thick the air with incense-fumes:
So passionately sweet, they lent
A fainting sense, half ravishment,
Half suffering, to the soul, as soft
The fragrant clouds were borne aloft.
On high the pealing anthem rung;
And first of faith and hope it sung,
Then sadder, sadder grew the strain—
As if the powers of hell prevailed,
It moaned in ecstasy of pain,
And through the solemn arches wailed;
Then sweet and clear, a single tone,
As if a seraph chanted lone,
Through thrilling cadences outpoured
A vibrating harmonious chord.
But 'mid the glory, dark to him,
And deaf to chant and choral hymn,
The poor pale corpse looked meek and mild,
And humble as a little child.
