PRAYER OF JEANNE D’ARC IN PRISON
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| St. Therese portraying St. Joan |
My voices this foretold: I am a prisoner here,
No aid can I expect, except, my God, from Thee;
For love of Thee alone, I left my father dear;
My flower-decked fields, blue skies, my flocks, no more I see.
For Thee I left my home and her who gave me birth;
Then, lifting in my hand the standard of Thy choice,
Lord, in Thy holy Name, I led an army forth,
And far-famed generals then gave credence to my voice.
Behold my recompense — this gloomy prison-place,
The price of all my toils, my prayers, my blood, my tears!
No more my flowery fields my longing eyes shall face,
Nor shall I see the home of all my childhood years.
No more shall I behold the mountains far away,
Whose distant summits seemed to pierce the azure sky;
And I shall hear no more the church-bells sweetly play.
How soft upon the air those holy notes swept by!
Here, in this gloomy cell, the star I seek in vain,
That used, at vesper hour, to shine so clear and fair;
In vain I seek the leaves, that when upon the plain
Beside my flock I slept, gave cooling shelter there.
Here, when at last I sleep after long bitter weeping,
Of morning’s flowers I dream, and perfumes of the dawn;
But then my clanking chains disturb that happy sleeping, —
I wake — my dream is past — the verdant fields are gone.
Lord, for Thy love I go, martyrdom to embrace;
For Thee I dare to meet the lingering death of fire.
Now but one wish is mine, — to see Thee face to face,
No more to part from Thee: — behold my heart’s desire!
To die for love of Thee, — what happier lot than this?
I will take up my cross, and walk where Thou hast trod.
Ah! how I long to die, and enter into bliss!
Ah! how I long to die, and thus to see my God!
My voices this foretold: I am a prisoner here,
No aid can I expect, except, my God, from Thee;
For love of Thee alone, I left my father dear;
My flower-decked fields, blue skies, my flocks, no more I see.
For Thee I left my home and her who gave me birth;
Then, lifting in my hand the standard of Thy choice,
Lord, in Thy holy Name, I led an army forth,
And far-famed generals then gave credence to my voice.
|
Behold my recompense — this gloomy prison-place,
The price of all my toils, my prayers, my blood, my tears!
No more my flowery fields my longing eyes shall face,
Nor shall I see the home of all my childhood years.
No more shall I behold the mountains far away,
Whose distant summits seemed to pierce the azure sky;
And I shall hear no more the church-bells sweetly play.
How soft upon the air those holy notes swept by!
|
Here, in this gloomy cell, the star I seek in vain,
That used, at vesper hour, to shine so clear and fair;
In vain I seek the leaves, that when upon the plain
Beside my flock I slept, gave cooling shelter there.
|
Here, when at last I sleep after long bitter weeping,
Of morning’s flowers I dream, and perfumes of the dawn;
But then my clanking chains disturb that happy sleeping, —
I wake — my dream is past — the verdant fields are gone.
|
Lord, for Thy love I go, martyrdom to embrace;
For Thee I dare to meet the lingering death of fire.
Now but one wish is mine, — to see Thee face to face,
No more to part from Thee: — behold my heart’s desire!
To die for love of Thee, — what happier lot than this?
I will take up my cross, and walk where Thou hast trod.
Ah! how I long to die, and enter into bliss!
Ah! how I long to die, and thus to see my God! |
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