Poem by Martha Dickinson Bianchi

A Priest’s Prayer

Over the dim confessional cried
  Father Amatus,—cloistered young,—
Dropping his rosary by his side,
  Careless where his crucifix swung:

“I have been priest since—an endless when!        
  Sat by the living, consoled the dead,
Fasted and prayed for women and men,
  Fed the poor with my daily bread.

“The wind blows cold,—how the snow-flakes creep!
  I will sin one sin, ere past recall,        
Lest life should faint in this pallid sleep:
  Kiss me, Jessica! Once for all.”

1. The Worlds
2. Reality
3. Unanswered
4. Heaven

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