THE NUN.

Fair penitent, with rosary,

And cross and veil, in gloomy cell,

What guilty deed was done by thee,

To cause thee here immured to dwell?

Come forward, and present thy cause;

That we may clearly judge, and know

If violated human laws

Imprison and afflict thee so:

Or if it be some secret sin,

That haunts thy contrite soul with fears;

And here sequesters thee within

The place of fasting, gloom, and tears?

Art thou the guiltiest of thy race?

Why, thou art human, it is true;

Which is alone enough for grace

To have renewing work to do.

But, can devotion, warm and deep,

Thy duty's bounds so closely set,

That faith may plough, and sow, and reap

By trials shunned, instead of met?

What ray of truth, revealed, would thus

Make of a tender opening soul

A close, dark blue convolvulus,

And give its bloom this inward roll?

Dost thou the never-fading crown

Of life and joy intend to win,

By here supinely sitting down,

Where others but the race begin?

And dost thou think to gain the palm

By hiding from thy Saviour's foes;

Or hope in Gilead's sacred balm

A cure for self-inflicted woes?

I never saw a Nun before;

And therefore claim indulgence now,

If I presume to question more

Than courtesy might, else, allow:

As one, then, who in darkness pleads,

For light, I ask to be informed

How, by a string of pegs and beads,

A soul is raised, or fed, or warmed.

Tell me, thou sober cabalist,

What is the potent, hidden charm

Hung on that string, or in its twist

Contorted, for repelling harm?

And is thy spirit kept so faint,

It cannot mount to God above;

But here must substitute a saint,

In image, for a heavenly love?

Has He, who lived and died for us —

Whose gifts are light and liberty,

Left in his Word the mitimus

That here confines and fetters thee?

Does He assign a living tomb

For souls, endowed with vital grace;

Or need surrounding convent gloom,

To show the radiance of his face?

And, pensive Nun, now what‘ s the chart

That he has drawn, and left below,

That by it every pious heart

May follow on the Lord to know?

Far from temptation, in retreat,

Did he consume his earthly days?

With houseless head, and weary feet,

What were his works? and where his ways?

O! get thy spirit's wings unfurled!

Hide not thy candle, if‘ t is lit:

Be in, but be not of the world,

If thou wouldst shine to lighten it.

Come out, and show that face demure;

And see, if, smit on either cheek,

Thy righteous soul would then endure

To turn the other, and be meek.

For, let me tell thee, coy recluse,

If we are gold, we must be tried;

If stones, we must be hewn for use,

Or by the builder cast aside.

The axe and chisel, we must bear,

To give us smoothness, shape, and size,

Are in the world — the furnace there;

For Heaven the gold and silver tries.

If we are salt to salt the earth,

Ah, then, our savor, to be known,

Must be diffused; for what‘ s the worth

Of salt en masse, boxed up alone?

The touchstone, where we must inquire

If we have safely hid our life,

Is found in pitfall, flood, and fire,

Allurements sweet, and bitter strife.

Come out! behold the billowy seas,

The flowery earth, and shining skies:

Say wherefore God created these;

And then, fair Nun, thy beauteous eyes.

Was it for thee to turn and slight

The glorious things he spread to view —

To give earth, ocean, air, and light,

And freedom, for a dismal mew?

O! if beneath some lawless vow

To man, in self-delusion made,

An heir of heaven is brought to bow,

That vow were better broke than paid.

What binds thee here? or who shall set

His name endorsed a pledge for thee,

When Christ has died to pay thy debt,

And burst the tomb to make thee free?

The world's the great arena, where

The fight of faith must well be fought,

And each good warrior seen to wear

The armor for the victory wrought.

How dost thou know but it may be

Thy foe, thy tempter, who has found

This cunning way to corner thee,

To keep thee from the battle-ground?

Come forth, thou timid, hampered one,

And doff that outward, odd disguise,

That cumbers thee, if thou wouldst run,

Or fight the fight, to win the prize.

Come! from the bushel take thy light,

And give its radiance room to play;

Bind on thy shoes and armor tight,

And up, and to the field away!