Came a hush, and the Host was uplifted,
And It made just the sign of the cross
O'er the low-bended brows of the people.
O Host of the Holy! Thy loss
To the altar, and temple, and people
Would make this world darkest of night;
And our hearts would grope blindly on through it,
For our love would have lost all its light.
~Laudate~, what thrilling of triumph!
Our souls soared to God on each tone;
And the Host went again to Its prison,
For our Christ fears to leave us alone.
Blessed priest! strange thou art His jailor!
Thy hand holds the beautiful key
That locks in His prison love's Captive,
And keeps Him in fetters for me.
* * * * *
'Twas over -- I gazed on the statue --
"Our Father", "Hail Mary" still came;
And to-night faith and love cannot help it,
I must still pray the same -- still the same.
____
Written at Loyola College, Baltimore, on the Night of December 8, 1880.
Fifty Years at the Altar
"To Rev. Father E. Sourin, S.J., from A. J. Ryan; first, in memory of
some happy hours passed in his company at Loyola College, Baltimore;
next, in appreciation of a character of strange beautifulness,
known of God, but hidden from men; and last, but by no means least,
to test and tempt his humility in the (to him) proud hour
of the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination."
To-day -- fifty years at the altar --
Thou art, as of old, at thy post!
Tell us, O chasubled soldier!
Art weary of watching the Host?
Fifty years -- Christ's sacred sentry,
To-day thy feet faithful are found
When the cross on the altar is blessing
Thy heart in its sentinel-round.
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