Golden gleams of noonday fell
On the pavement of the cell,
And the monk still lingered there
In the ecstasy of prayer;
Fuller floods of glory streamed
Through the window, and it seemed
Like an answering glow of love
From the countenance above.
On the silence of the cell
Break the faint tones of a bell.
'Tis the hour when at the gate
Crowds of poor and hungry wait,
Wan and wistful, to be fed
With the friar of mercy's bread.
Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells!
On the monk's rapt ear it swells,
No! fond, flattering dream, away!
Mercy calls; no longer stay!
Whom thou yearnest here to find
In the musings of thy mind,
God and Jesus, lo, they wait
Knocking at thy convent gate!
From his knees the monk arose;
With full heart and hand he goes,
At his gate the poor relieves,
Gains a blessing and receives;
To his cell returned, and there
Found the angel of his prayer,
Who with radiant features said,
"Hadst thou stayed I must have fled."
--Charles Timothy Brooks.