204
POEMS.
Then, kneeling on the scorching sands,
He stretched toward heaven his clasped hands,
He stretched toward heaven his clasped hands,
And prayed, as he had prayed for years,
With smitings and with bitter tears.
With smitings and with bitter tears.
Untouched, the grapes lay glowing there,
Filling with scent the desert air.
Filling with scent the desert air.
AVALANCHES.
HEART that on Love's sunny height doth dwell,Serene in trust because the skies are bright!
Listen to what all Alpine records tell
Of days on which the avalanches fell.
Not days of storm when men were pale with fright
And watched the hills with anxious, straining sight,
And heard in every sound a note of knell;
But when in heavens still, and blue, and clear,
The sun rode high,—those were the hours to fear
And so the monks of San Bernard to-day,—
May the Lord count their souls and hold them dear,
When skies are cloudless, in their convent stay,
And for the souls of dead and dying pray.
