Part 12 (2/2)

LXVIII.

TO MONSIGNOR LODOVICO BECCADELLI.

_URBINO._

_Per croce e grazia._

G.o.d's grace, the cross, our troubles multiplied, Will make us meet in heaven, full well I know: Yet ere we yield our breath, on earth below Why need a little solace be denied?

Though seas and mountains and rough ways divide Our feet asunder, neither frost nor snow Can make the soul her ancient love forgo; Nor chains nor bonds the wings of thought have tied.

Borne by these wings with thee I dwell for aye, And weep, and of my dead Urbino talk, Who, were he living, now perchance would be,

For so 'twas planned, thy guest as well as I: Warned by his death another way I walk To meet him where he waits to live with me.

LXIX.

WAITING FOR DEATH.

_Di morte certo._

My death must come; but when, I do not know: Life's short, and little life remains for me: Fain would my flesh abide; my soul would flee Heavenward, for still she calls on me to go.

Blind is the world; and evil here below O'erwhelms and triumphs over honesty: The light is quenched; quenched too is bravery: Lies reign, and truth hath ceased her face to show.

When will that day dawn, Lord, for which he waits Who trusts in Thee? Lo, this prolonged delay Destroys all hope and robs the soul of life.

Why streams the light from those celestial gates, If death prevent the day of grace, and stay Our souls for ever in the toils of strife?

LXX.

_A PRAYER FOR STRENGTH._

_Carico d'anni._

Burdened with years and full of sinfulness, With evil custom grown inveterate, Both deaths I dread that close before me wait, Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.

No strength I find in mine own feebleness To change or life or love or use or fate, Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late, Which only helps and stays our nothingness.

'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn For that celestial home, where yet my soul May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought:

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