Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/53

 Not so, not so, beloved,
 * My son, I pray thee hear,

Have mercy, I beseech thee,
 * Upon this soul in fear.

And turn her bitter anguish
 * To songs of praise, just here.”

Right gladly would I hear thee,
 * Oh, Blessed Mother mine,

But in my Father’s mansions
 * That sinful soul would pine;

What good work has she finished,
 * Meet for this home divine?”

Alas! alas! I sinful
 * Have walked in my own light;

The world and all its pleasures,
 * They were my sole delight;

Alas! I am most sinful,
 * Most sinful in my sight.”

But say, some good work surely—
 * Some fasts you must have kept?”

The Blessed Mother questioned,
 * The sinful soul that wept:

Some sins you must have thought of,
 * And prayed for, ere you slept?”

Alas! alas! I sinful
 * Have nothing I can show,

Except I sometimes tended
 * The sick ones in their woe,

And gave a little water
 * To those down-stricken low.”

Ah, great then was the beauty,
 * That shown in our Lord’s face:

Give me thy hand, redeemed one,
 * Thy sins they are effaced;

Come in, come in, redeemed one,
 * Thou, too, hast won the race.”