Only an acid-bitten tongue,Fit neither in its povertyFor vengeance nor for threnody,Only for tears and blasphemy.
Now God be praised that a door should creak,And that a rusty hinge should shriek.Of all sweet sounds that I may hearOf lute or lyre or dulcimer,None ever shall assail my earSweet as the sound of a grating doorI had thought closed forevermore.Out of my deep-ploughed agony,I turned to see a door swing free;The very door he once came throughTo death, now framed for us anewHis vital self, his and no other'sLive body of the dead, my brother's.Like one who dreams within a dream,Hand at my throat, lest I should scream,I moved with hopeful, doubting paceTo meet the dead man face to face.
"Bear witness now unto His grace";I heard my mother's mounting word,"Behold the glory of the Lord,His unimpeachable high seal.
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