At Last

Into a temple vast and dim,
Solemn and vast and dim,
Just when the last sweet Vesper Hymn
    Was floating far away,
With eyes that tabernacled tears --
Her heart the home of tears --
And cheeks wan with the woes of years,
    A woman went one day.

And, one by one, adown the aisles,
Adown the long, lone aisles,
Their faces bright with holy smiles
    That follow after prayer,
The worshipers in silence passed,
In silence slowly passed away;
The woman knelt until the last
    Had left her lonely there.

A holy hush came o'er the place,
O'er the holy place,
The shadows kissed her woe-worn face,
    Her forehead touched the floor;
The wreck that drifted thro' the years --
Sin-driven thro' the years --
Was floating o'er the tide of tears,
    To Mercy's golden shore.

Her lips were sealed, they could not pray,
They sighed, but could not pray,
All words of prayer had died away
    From them long years ago;
But ah! from out her eyes there rose --
Sad from her eyes there rose --
The prayer of tears, which swiftest goes
    To Heaven -- winged with woe.

With weary tears, her weary eyes,
Her joyless, weary eyes,
Wailed forth a rosary; and her sighs
    And sobs strung all the beads;
The while before her spirit's gaze --
Her contrite spirit's gaze --
Moved all the mysteries of her days,
    And histories of her deeds.

Still as a shadow, while she wept,
So desolately wept,
Up thro' the long, lone aisle she crept
    Unto an altar fair;
"Mother!" -- her pale lips said no more --
Could say no more --
The wreck, at last, reached Mercy's shore,
    For Mary's shrine was there.

Abram Joseph Ryan

Abram Joseph Ryan was an American poet, Catholic priest, and former Confederate chaplain. Known as the 'Poet-Priest of the South,' his most famous work is 'The Conquered Banner.' Ryan wrote many poems that reflected his Southern heritage and the American Civil War. His works often possess a spiritual and melancholic tone, inspired by the losses of the war and his religious faith. In addition to poetry, he also wrote essays and gave public speeches.

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English

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The Immaculate Conception

Fell the snow on the festival's vigil
And surpliced the city in white;
I wonder who wove the pure flakelets?
Ask the Virgin, or God, or the night.

It fitted the Feast: 'twas a symbol,
And earth wore the surplice at morn,
As pure as the vale's stainless lily
For Mary, the sinlessly born;

For Mary, conceived in all sinlessness;
And the sun, thro' the clouds of the East,
With the brightest and fairest of flashes,
Fringed the surplice of white for the Feast.

And round the horizon hung cloudlets,
Pure stoles to be worn by the Feast;
While the earth and the heavens were waiting
For the beautiful Mass of the priest.

I opened my window, half dreaming;
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A Death

Crushed with a burden of woe,
Wrecked in the tempest of sin:
Death came, and two lips murmured low,
"Ah! once I was white as the snow,
In the happy and pure long ago;
But they say God is sweet -- is it so?
Will He let a poor wayward one in --
In where the innocent are?
Ah! justice stands guard at the gate;
Does it mock at a poor sinner's fate?
Alas! I have fallen so far!
Oh, God! Oh, my God! 'tis too late!
I have fallen as falls a lost star:

"The sky does not miss the gone gleam,
But my heart, like the lost star, can dream
Of the sky it has fall'n from. Nay!
I have wandered too far -- far away.
Oh! would that my mother were here;
Is God like a mother? Has He
Any love for a sinner like me?"

Her face wore the wildness of woe --

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Last of May

To the Children of Mary of the Cathedral of Mobile



In the mystical dim of the temple,
In the dream-haunted dim of the day,
The sunlight spoke soft to the shadows,
And said: "With my gold and your gray,
Let us meet at the shrine of the Virgin,
And ere her fair feast pass away,
Let us weave there a mantle of glory,
To deck the last evening of May."

The tapers were lit on the altar,
With garlands of lilies between;
And the steps leading up to the statue
Flashed bright with the roses' red sheen;
The sun-gleams came down from the heavens
Like angels, to hallow the scene,
And they seemed to kneel down with the shadows
That crept to the shrine of the Queen.

The singers, their hearts in their voices,
Had chanted the anthems of o...

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Feast of the Assumption. - "A Night Prayer"

        Dark!    Dark!    Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead:
        Thy Feast has fled;
My eyes are wet with tears unshed;
        I bow my head;
Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway
        I bend my knee,
And, like a homesick child, I pray,
        Mary, to thee.

        Dark!    Dark!    Dark!
And, all the day -- since white-robed priest
        In farthest East,
In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast,
        I -- I the least --
Thy least, and last, and lowest child,
        I called on thee!
Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild;
        Didst think of me?

        Dark!    Dark!    Dark!
Alas! and no!    The angels bright,
        With wings as white
As a dream of snow in love and light,
        Flashe...

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Life

A baby played with the surplice sleeve
Of a gentle priest; while in accents low,
The sponsors murmured the grand "I believe,"
And the priest bade the mystic waters to flow
In the name of the Father, and the Son,
And Holy Spirit -- Three in One.

Spotless as a lily's leaf,
Whiter than the Christmas snow;
Not a sign of sin or grief,
And the babe laughed, sweet and low.

A smile flitted over the baby's face:
Or was it the gleam of its angel's wing
Just passing then, and leaving a trace
Of its presence as it soared to sing?
A hymn when words and waters win
To grace and life a child of sin.

Not an outward sign or token,
That a child was saved from woe;
But the bonds of sin were broken,
And the babe laughed, sweet and low.

A...

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De Profundis

Ah! days so dark with death's eclipse!
    Woe are we! woe are we!
And the nights are ages long!
From breaking hearts, thro' pallid lips
    O my God! woe are we!
Trembleth the mourner's song;
    A blight is falling on the fair,
    And hope is dying in despair,
    And terror walketh everywhere.

All the hours are full of tears --
    O my God! woe are we!
Grief keeps watch in brightest eyes --
Every heart is strung with fears,
    Woe are we! woe are we!
All the light hath left the skies,
    And the living awe struck crowds
    See above them only clouds,
    And around them only shrouds.

Ah! the terrible farewells!
    Woe are they! woe are they!
When last words sink into moans,
While life's trembling vesper bells --

Abram Joseph Ryan