Open his hand had been,

And liberal of its store;
And the prayers of the needy arose
Who had daily been fed at his door.

They too whom Cyra's secret aid
Relieved from pressing cares,
In this, her day of wretchedness,
Repaid her with their prayers.
And from many a gentle bosom
Supplications for mercy were sent,
If haply they might aid
The wretched penitent.

Sorely such aid he needed then!
Basil himself, of living men
The powerfullest in prayer, (5)
For pity, rather than in hope,
Had bidden him not despair.

So hard a thing for him it seem'd
To wrest from Satan's hand
The fatal Bond, which, while retain'd,
Must against him in judgment stand.

« Dost thou believe," he said, « that Grace Itself can reach this grief?»

With a feeble voice, and a woeful eye, «Lord, I believe!» was the sinner's reply, Help thou mine unbelief!»>

«

The Bishop then crost him on the brow,
And crost him on the breast:
And told him if he did his part
With true remorse and faithful heart,
God's mercy might do the rest.

Alone in the holy relic-room (6)
Must thou pass day and night,
And wage with thy ghostly enemies
A more than mortal fight.

The trial may be long, and the struggle strong,
Yet be not thou dismay'd;

For thou mayest count on Saints in Heaven, And on earthly prayers for aid.

Tears are denied; their source is dried! And must it still be so?

O Thou, who from a rock didst make
The living waters flow,

A broken and a bleeding heart
This hour I offer Thee;

And, when Thou seest good, my tears
Shall then again be free!

A knocking at the door was heard
As he ended this reply;
Hearing that unexpected sound,
The Bishop turn'd his eye,
And his venerable Mother,
Emmelia the Abbess, drew nigh.

We have not ceased this mournful night,
Said she, on Heaven to call:
And our afflicted Cyra

That welcome word when Cyra heard,
With a sad pace and slow,

Forward she came, like one whose heart

Was overcharged with woe.

Her face was pale,-long illness would
Have changed those features less:
And long-continued tears had dimm'd
Her eyes with heaviness.

Her husband's words had reach'd her ear
When at the door she stood;

Thou hast prayed in vain for tears,» she said,
While I have pour'd a flood!

Mine flow, and they will flow; they must;
They cannot be represt!

And oh that they might wash away
The stigma from thy breast!

Oh that these tears might cleanse that spot,-
Tears which I cannot check!.
Profusely weeping as she spake,

She fell upon his neck.