And bring remission on his head.
Only a tear! The Heavenly Choir
Praised the Lord for the thing call'd love;
But Satan shrieked in frenzied ire,
"This foolish tear will quench my fire,
This man must go above--above!"
Back again where the flaming sword
Closely guarded the jewelled door.
"I seek," he humbly sobbed, "our Lord.
I brought Thee gold--a worthless hoard--
Thou wouldst not let me in before.
"But now I come to Thee with this--
A little thing, 'tis very small--
I pray Thee take it not amiss,
My gold is in the dark abyss,
This little tear, oh Lord, is all!"
"Oh wondrous drop," Saint Peter cried,
"That shows the sap of life within
A _living_ Soul, with chance to win
A place with God, immune from sin!
Methought the fount of Life had dried"
(He flung the Gates of Heaven wide),
"Go, _living_ Soul, and enter in!"
There in the lowest halls of grace,
Through deep remorse and pains austere