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 through
The shadowed aisles. I hear a slow
Refrain, "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 anew
The nails and scourge; then come the low
Sad 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 groans
Of prisoners, who lie in chains,
So near, and in such mortal pains,
   I hear the groans.
   But Christ walks through
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 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!"

Rome, December 26, 1868S.