BETA

The Three Monks.

By Susan K. Phillips.
Deep in a Tyrol valley the grey old Priory stood,1
Hard by a rushing river, at the edge of a great pine
wood.2
The Despots’ laws and the Spoilers’ sword, had been
hard on the brotherhood ;3
But three old monks sang Matins now, at the foot
of the Holy Rood ;4
But three old monks sang Vespers now, when the
sighing south wind wooed5
The sunset to dazzle softly down, on the sylvan
solitude.6
Out from the pine-wood’s shadow came the flock of
mountain sheep,7
Their shepherd was piping to them, as they gathered
from noonday sleep ;8
He sang as a careless youth will sing, as he came
his watch to keep,9
He sang to the streamlet as it rushed, down from
the craggy steep,10
He sang to the rustle of the leaves, he sang to the
torrent’s leap11
The old monks heard the mellow strains ; they
paused to smile, to weep.12
They said, “ our rites are poor and bare, our voices
weak and old,13
For the noble notes where the praise of God in the
Church’s words is told ;14
It is not that our high hopes falter, it is not that
our faith grows cold,15
But the strength in our hearts is passing, and few
are left in the fold.”16
So they took from their scanty treasure chest of its
little store of gold,17
That the boy, for hire, should chant the rites when
the chapel bell was tolled.18
At dawn, and at noon, and at evensong, as the long
days lingered by,19
Before the grey stone altar rose the rich young
melody ;20
Rose up in long harmonious strains, up to the sum-
mer sky,21
And the three old monks knelt listening, with shut
lips and reverent eye,22
A little sad that no more they dared the sweet old
hymns to try ;23
A little glad that the Lord they loved should be
praised so worthily.24
At last, to each of the three old monks, at night a
vision came,25
An angel stood in either cell, and he called on each
by name.26
He looked on each with a gentle gaze, a gaze of
loving blame.27
He said, “ From the chorus that rises up, from earth
to the great white throne,28
To blend with the song of seraphim, three precious
notes are gone !29
The strains that are bought, in the heavenly choir
have neither space nor part ;30
Our Lord has missed from His house built here, the
music of the heart.”31
Humbled and happy the three old monks next
morning sought the shrine,32
Where, by feeble faithful fingers kept, stood the
Lamp ’neath the solemn sign,33
They bade the merry mountain lad go back his
flocks to tend,34
And at Matins, and Prime, and Evensong, till
Death called, a welcome Friend,35
From the three old quavering voices rose the chanted
prayer to Him,36
Who only loves the praise of the heart to join
with His seraphim.37