September, 1923

Because we cannot guage the deeps of pain,

They are not therefore bottomless. God’s love Is ground thereof; though, drawing sudden rein, Our coward faith is fain

To fall back reeling from the brink above.

Since not a stricken sparrow falls to earth

But God stands by for comfort, who shall guess His hidden help to man whose soul is worth God’s life, who span the girth Of His immeasurable tenderness?

He laughed, that small boy martyr, long ago,

To feel his wounds a-brim with seething oil,— As once to see his sand pits all a-row Filled by the green tide’s flow.

So was pain mocked upon this very soil.

Who knows what vision cleft the driving flame Or ravenous waves, what angels winged with fire, Luring the tranced soul from shattered frame Even before death came—

Kind sponsor for a baptism of desire?

Sister Mary Benvenuta, O.P.