Classic Poem

SEMI-RIGID , half-elastic,
Was the pious, old monastic
Scheme of life;
When the lenten bread of heaven
With a dash of human leaven
Aye was rife.

Through dark ages, they kept burning
The forbidden lamps of learning
In their cells;
As, in Afric's sands, the rover,
With protecting stones, doth cover
The glad wells.

And, with ecstasy, the stainless
Mother loved they, who, in painless
Travail, bore
Him whose birth and crucifixion
Loosed the bonds of our affliction
Evermore.

Lordly herds, on meadows, thriving
Under vineyards, they, by shriving
Sinners, got.
Pious hinds their wealth augmented,
And their broad lands tilled, contented
With their lot.

That the Friars worldly pleasure,
In their lay-days, without measure
Had enjoyed,
And discovered that the madness
Of the revel's sinful gladness
Left a void;

Taught them that the peasant's toil,
On the mute but grateful soil
Is a fate
Happier than his wild ambition,
Who aspires to patrician
Pomp and state.

And the monk, so old and shabby,
Seemed the image of his Abbey,
Gray and hoary;
Winter's rudest blasts defying,
With its inward and undying
Warmth of glory.

Chimed the convent-bell a marriage?
He uncoifed his austere carriage,
And was mortal,
As with benediction saintly,
Ushered he the fond ones quaintly
Through hope's portal.

But a sad yet tender riot
Sometimes thrilled his pulse's quiet
With strange charms,
When the holy-water glistened
On the new-born infant, christened
In his arms.

And you saw each waxen finger
With unconscious twitchings linger
Round the boy;
As though yearnings, pent and hidden,
Cried within, for the forbidden
Human joy.

And his eyes, through fond mists glowing,
Saw the babe in stature growing,
Till the day
When himself its soul might foster,
And, with creed and Pater-noster ,
Point the way.

Like the glass a sigh hath clouded,
Brighter shone his gaze when, crowded
Near the font,
He beheld God's children pressing,
And bestowed a warmer blessing
Than his wont.

Called the death-bell's lingering knelling
Prince or peasant from life's dwelling
To depart?
By those Heaven-sent stewards shriven,
Who the imps of sin had driven
From his heart,

Each a message, as he kissed him,
Whispered softly and dismissed him
On glad wing;
Like the bark that carries tidings
From a Viceroy's distant bidings
To his King.

Fiercely they rebuked the scorner,
Tenderly consoled the mourner
In his sorrow;
Eyes, all moist to-day with sadness,
Shone serene midst festive gladness
On the morrow.

Thus abroad, with zeal unending,
Rich and poor alike befriending,
Lived the Friars;
Vigil, fast, and flagellations
Mortified the world's temptations
And desires.

And when waxed the poor monk paler,
Until granted him Life's gaoler
His release,
Earth's sad stewardship resigning,
Homeward flew his spirit, pining, —
Into peace.