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CRUCE AND CORONA.
Oh! never o'er the narrow death-stream yetHath passed a Christian soul but on this earthHath known in anguish its Gethsemane.
O Saviour! O Divinely human! comeAnd hover near this soul, who sorrows nowWithin the shades of her Gethsemane.
From earthly pain oft cometh heav'nly strength;Who wait upon the Lord their strength renew. Crucè amid her mission pupils sits;Within her eyes' dark depths the light of peaceDispels the shade of sadness, and the gleamOf high triumphant pow'r is shining there.
Her pupils on her gaze with wond'ring awe.She speaks to them of immortality;And while she speaks, the strength and holy hopeThat from her eyes beam forth in heav'nly pow'rImpress for aye the lesson on their souls.
And when the tidings of her grief and lossAre borne afar to Italy, there come,With words of touching sadness, words of hope,Of holy strength and trust that ne'er shall fail.
And answering these tidings soon there comesA beauteous picture from Corona's hand.
