My Lord had fled-he could not stay, For earth, you know, is not His homeBut yet, he said, "at break of day, Salome! Love! again I'll come." 66 Thou mourner! yet bear up awhile, The day," he cried," is coming fast, When thou shalt dwell beneath the smile, The sunshine of my love at last." Sweet promise! ah what else could make These tears of rapture fill my eye ? Without it, Lord! my heart would break, My mourning spirit droop and die. There is, there is a world of rest, And there, beside those living rills, ANON. THE TRAGEDY OF THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. IGNATIUS. 66 The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit." I thank you Polycarp. IGNATIUS. John iii. 8. (Polycarp looks towards the end of the room.) What see you there? POLYCARP. One of the soldiers looks extremely thoughtful. A softness creeping o'er his hardy face; IGNATIUS. Yes, by all means. . .Friend would you speak with me? (A soldier advances from the rest up to Ignatius and Polycarp. SOLDIER. I am not worthy holy man to come Into your presence. IGNATIUS. Why? what is the matter? SOLDIER. Dont you remember that a soldier struck you ?.. |