Yet, now, when I watch her pass with a heavy reel,
Shouting her villanous song,

Is it only pity or shame, do you think, that I feel
For the infinite sorrow and wrong?

With a sick, strange wonder I ask, Who shall answer the sin,

Thou, lover, brothers of thine?

Or he who left standing thy hovel to perish in ?
Or I, who gave no sign?

JÜTZI SCHULTHEISS."

Töss, 1300.

THE gift of God was mine; I lost
For aye the gift of Pentecost.

For seven long years the gift was mine,
I often saw the angels shine
Suddenly down the cloister's dark
Deserted length at night; and oft
At the high mass I seemed to mark
A stranger music, high and soft,
That swam about the heavenly Cup,
And caught our ruder voices up;
And often, nay, indeed at will,
I would lie back and let the still
Cold trance creep over me — and see
Mary and all the Saints flash by,
Till only God was left and I.

The gift of God was mine; I lost
For aye the gift of Pentecost.

Now sometimes in the summer time
I stood beneath the orchard trees,
And in their boughs I heard the breeze
Keep on a low continuing rhyme,
And nothing else was heard beside
The little birds that sang and cried
Their Latin to the praise of God.
And under foot new grass I trod,
And overhead the light was green,
And all the boughs were starred and gay
With apple-blossoms in between

The fresh young leaves as sweet as they.
And as I looked upon the sun,

Who made these fair things every one
To sprout and sing and wax so strong,
My whole heart turned into a song.
'For, God,' I thought, this sun art Thou,
And Thou art in the orchard bough,
And in the grass whereon I tread,
And in the bird-song overhead,

And in my soul and limbs and voice,

And in my heart which must rejoice —

God!' And my song stopped weak and dazed, I seemed upon the very verge

Of some great brink, wherefrom amazed

My soul shrank back, lest should emerge

Thence Nay, what then? What should I fear?

I to whom God was known and dear?

Once so possessed with God, I stood
In prayer within the orchard wood,
When some one softly called my name,
And shattered all my happy mood.
Towards me an ancient Sister came,
'Quick Jützi, to the hall!' she cried;
And swiftly after her I hied,

And swiftly reached the convent hall, Now full of struggle and loud with brawl.

Close to the door aghast I stayed,

Too much indignant and afraid
To ask who wrought this blasphemy.
Then the old nun crept nearer me,
And whispered how some knights to-day,
Riding to Zürich's tourney-fray,
Had craved our shelter and repast,
And how we made the postern fast,
Because they were so rough a crew,
Yet gave them food and rest enew
In the great barn outside the gate;
And how they feasted long and late
Till, drunk, they stormed the postern door,
And sacked the buttery for more.

Nor this the end; for having done,
One shouted 'Nassau;' straightway one
'Hapsburg.' The battle was begun.

She looked at me afraid and faint,
With

eyes that mutely begged for aid; For I was safe and I a saint,

She thought, who was a frightened maid;
And through the clamor and the din

I heard her say, 'They can but sin,
Having not God within their heart;
But we, who have the better part,
Must pray for them to Christ above,
That in the greatness of His love
He pardon them their sins to-day.'
And then she turned her eyes away.
But I looked straight before me where
The unseemly blows and clamors were,
And cold my heart grew, stiff and cold,

For I had prayed so much of old,
So vainly for these knights-at-arms,
Who filled the country with alarms —
Too often had I prayed in vain,
Too often put myself in pain

For these irreverent, brawling, rough,

And godless knights — I had prayed enough!

'Let God,' I cried, 'do all He please;
I pray no more for such as these.’
Then swift I turned and fled, as though
I fled from sin, and strife, and woe,
Who fled from God, and from His grace.
Nor stayed I till I reached the place
Where I had prayed an hour ago.

I stood again beneath the shade
The flowering apple-orchard made;
The grass was still as tall and green,
And fresh as ever it had been.

I heard the little rabbits rush

As swiftly through the wood; the thrush
Was singing still the self-same song,
Yet something there was changed and wrong.
Or through the grass or through my heart
Some deadly thing had passed athwart,
And left behind a blighting track;
For the old peace comes never back.

God knows how I am humbled, how
There is in all the convent now
No novice half so weak and poor
In all esteem as I; the door
I keep, and wait on passers-by,
And lead the cattle out to browse,
And wash the beggars' feet; even I,
Who was the glory of our house.

Yet dares my soul rejoice because,

Though I have failed, though I have sinned, Not less eternal are the laws

Of God, no less the sun and wind

Declare His glory than before,

Though I am fallen, and faint, and poor.
Nay should I fall to very Hell,

Yet am I not so miserable

As heathen are, who know not Him,
Who makes all other glories dim.
O God, believed in still though lost,
Yet fill me with Thy Holy Ghost-
Let but the vision fill mine eye
An instant ere the tear be dry;
Or, if Thou wilt, keep hid and far,
Yet art Thou still the secret star
To which my soul sets all her tides,
My soul that recks of nought besides.
Have I not found Thee in the fire
Of sunset's purple after-glow?

Have I not found Thee in the throe

Of anguished hearts that bleed and tire?
God, once so plain to see and hear,
Now never answering any tear.

O God, a guest within my house

Thou wert, my love thou wert, my spouse;
Yet never known so well as now

When the ash whitens on my brow;
And cinders on my head are tossed,
Because the gift I had I lost.