160
POEMS.
But Christ walks through
The dungeons of St. Angelo,
And says, "Forgive them, for they know
Not what they do."
The dungeons of St. Angelo,
And says, "Forgive them, for they know
Not what they do."
And now the music sinks to sighs;
The lights grow dim:
The Pastorella's melodies
In lingering echoes float and rise;
The lights grow dim;
More clear and true,
In this sweet silence, seem to flow
The words, "Forgive them, for they know
Not what they do."
The lights grow dim:
The Pastorella's melodies
In lingering echoes float and rise;
The lights grow dim;
More clear and true,
In this sweet silence, seem to flow
The words, "Forgive them, for they know
Not what they do."
The dawn swings incense, silver gray;
The night is past;
Now comes, triumphant, God's full day;
No priest, no church can bar its way:
The night is past:
How, on this blue
Of God's great banner, blaze and glow
The words, "Forgive them, for they know
Not what they do!"
The night is past;
Now comes, triumphant, God's full day;
No priest, no church can bar its way:
The night is past:
How, on this blue
Of God's great banner, blaze and glow
The words, "Forgive them, for they know
Not what they do!"
Rome, December 26, 1868S.
