Let the world flaunt her glories! each glittering prize, |
| Though tempting to others, is nought in my eyes. |
| A child of St. Philip, my master and guide, |
| I would live as he lived, and would die as he died. |
Why should I be sadden'd, though friendless I be? |
| For who in his youth was so lonely as he? |
| If spited and mock'd, so was he, when he cried |
| To his God on the cross to stand by his side. {313} |
If scanty my fare, yet how was he fed? |
| On olives and herbs and a small roll of bread. |
| Are my joints and bones sore with aches and with pains? |
| Philip scourged his young flesh with fine iron chains. |
A closet his home, where he, year after year, |
| Bore heat or cold greater than heat or cold here; |
| A rope stretch'd across it, and o'er it he spread |
| His small stock of clothes; and the floor was his bed. |
One lodging besides; God's temple he chose, |
| And he slept in its porch his few hours of repose; |
| Or studied by light which the altar-lamp gave, |
| Or knelt at the Martyr's victorious grave. |
I'm ashamed of myself, of my tears and my tongue, |
| So easily fretted, so often unstrung; |
| Mad at trifles, to which a chance moment gives birth, |
| Complaining of heaven, and complaining of earth. {314} |
So now, with his help, no cross will I fear, |
| But will linger resign'd through my pilgrimage here. |
| A child of St. Philip, my master and guide, |
| I will live as he lived, and will die as he died. |
The Oratory.
1857. |