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the church of the gesù.
Beneath their glance, yet undismayed,
A little babe who only knows
In the wide world its mother's breast,
Where it may nestle to its rest,
Might 'neath their light be lulled to sleep—
No human mother's glance so deep
In its soft pathos, tender love.
Those eyes—the very source of love!—
Creating where their glances stream,
So full of life intense they beam,
A Soul where soul seemed none, a breath
Out of the body of that Death!
A little babe who only knows
In the wide world its mother's breast,
Where it may nestle to its rest,
Might 'neath their light be lulled to sleep—
No human mother's glance so deep
In its soft pathos, tender love.
Those eyes—the very source of love!—
Creating where their glances stream,
So full of life intense they beam,
A Soul where soul seemed none, a breath
Out of the body of that Death!
The shining Presence manifest,
Faded the earthly pageant's glow,
The pomp, the prostrate crowd below,
And o'er the organ's triumphs heard,
As all its sea of sound were stirred,
Rose thrilling sweet the accents blest,
"Fear not—I am the first—the last:
I have the keys of hell—of death."
Faded the earthly pageant's glow,
The pomp, the prostrate crowd below,
And o'er the organ's triumphs heard,
As all its sea of sound were stirred,
Rose thrilling sweet the accents blest,
"Fear not—I am the first—the last:
I have the keys of hell—of death."
Up to those eyes the dead man gazed,
Up to those eyes his eyes were raised
Up to those eyes his eyes were raised
