DE PROFUNDIS.

New Zealand Tablet, 11 July 1918, Page 23

DE PROFUNDIS.

My soul to-day is like a beaten child, That cowes with sobbing moan low in the dark, Catching its breath in memory of the rod, Yet have I knowledge that no infant hath, And my despair is sin. For when the child, with sorrow almost spent, Hears a faint sound; and, lo! the door swings wide; Doth he not raise his hunted eyes and run To press his face against the well-loved hands ? E'en so one day will God, my Father, look From out the shining casement of High Heaven, And step down in love to end my strife And then they'll lay my flesh that sorrowed so Beneath the silver linen's cooling fold; But my swift soul, with sobbing and with laughter. Will follow His white feet among the stars. D.