After the Storm
Mary most Pure, walking in highest heaven
Among the blossoms of the starry meadows,
And looking down into our earthly shadows,
Heard a sad soul that asked to be forgiven.
Pausing, she listened to the piteous story:
Then said she, ‘I will have for my handmaiden
This weary soul with sorrow overladen,
And I will robe her in eternal glory.’
Behold, the eager angels hastening
Where death and Satan hover o'er their prey,
While sin and poverty are standing by.
For each his own, and none will dare deny
To death and poverty the worn-out clay:
Wake, happy soul, and spread thy trembling wing.
Among the blossoms of the starry meadows,
And looking down into our earthly shadows,
Heard a sad soul that asked to be forgiven.
Pausing, she listened to the piteous story:
Then said she, ‘I will have for my handmaiden
This weary soul with sorrow overladen,
And I will robe her in eternal glory.’
Behold, the eager angels hastening
Where death and Satan hover o'er their prey,
While sin and poverty are standing by.
For each his own, and none will dare deny
To death and poverty the worn-out clay:
Wake, happy soul, and spread thy trembling wing.
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