Poems (Jackson)/Christmas Night in St Peter's

by Helen Hunt Jackson

CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN ST. PETER'S.

OW on the marble floor I lie:  I am alone:Though friendly voices whisper nigh,And foreign crowds are passing by,   I am alone,    Great hymns float throughThe shadowed aisles. I hear a slowRefrain, "Forgive them, for they know   Not what they do."

With tender joy all others thrill;   I have but tears:The false priests' voices, high and shrill,Reiterate the "Peace, good-will;"   I have but tears.   I hear anewThe nails and scourge; then come the lowSad words, "Forgive them, for they know   Not what they do."

Close by my side the poor souls kneel;   I turn away;Half-pitying looks at me they steal;They think, because I do not feel,   I turn away.   Ah! if they knew,How following them, where'er they go,I hear, "Forgive them, for they know   Not what they do."

Above the organ's sweetest strains   I hear the groansOf prisoners, who lie in chains,So near, and in such mortal pains,   I hear the groans.    But Christ walks throughThe 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 melodiesIn lingering echoes float and rise;   The lights grow dim;   More clear and true,In this sweet silence, seem to flowThe 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 blueOf God's great banner, blaze and glowThe words, "Forgive them, for they know   Not what they do!"

Rome, December 26, 1868S.