Explore "The Monk" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When in my narrow cell I lie, / The long day's penance done at last, / I see the ghosts of days gone by, / And hear the voices of the past.
I see the blue-gray wood-smoke curled / From hearths where life has rhymed to love, / I see the kingdoms of the world -- / The glory and the power thereof, / And cry, "Ah, vainly have I striven! " / And then a voice calls, soft and low: / "Thou gavest My Earth to win My Heaven; / But Heaven-on-Earth thou mayest not know!"
It is not for Thy Heaven, O Lord, / That I renounced Thy pleasant earth -- / The ship, the furrow, and the sword -- / The dreams of death, the dreams of birth!
Weary of vigil, fast, and prayer, / Weak in my hope and in my faith -- / O Christ, for whom this cross I bear, / Meet me beside the gate of Death!
When the night comes, then let me rest / (O Christ, who sanctifiest pain! ) / Falling asleep upon Thy breast, / And, if Thou wilt, wake never again!