For he springs aside and shades his brow
With a sharp, though stifled, cry?

Ah' youth and beauty, in spirit gaze
On what that coffin holds--
On the fearful object that now lies
In the shroud's white ample folds:
Nay, turn not away with loathing look,
Lest that hideous sight you see,
In a few short years from now, alas!
It is what we all shall be.

Let us learn as Francis Borgia learned,
By that lifeless form of clay,
To despise the changing things of earth,
All doomed to swift decay--
Deep into his heart the lesson sank,
Effacing earthly taint,
And Spain's Court lost a gallant knight,
While the Church gained a Saint!




ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AT THE CHAPEL OF OUR LADY OF MONTSERRAT.


'Tis midnight, and solemn darkness broods
In a lonely, sacred fane--
The church of Our Lady of Montserrat,