POEMS IN HONOR OF JEANNE D’ARC

I.

THE SHEPHERDESS OF DOMREMY HEARKENING TO HER VOICES. Happy, happy am I, Jeanne the shepherdess! How swift my lambkins fly To meet my kind caress. How light my little crook; How cool this verdant grove, Beside whose babbling brook In solitude I rove. A lovely crown I weave Of field-flowers, fair and sweet; What joy is mine to leave That crown at Mary’s feet! Oh, how I love the flowers, The birds, the rippling stream The skies above these bowers As fair as angel’s dream. The valleys and the rills Rejoice my longing eyes; The summits of the hills, They seem to touch the skies! But hark! What voices come Upon the evening breeze? Do angels seek my home With melodies like these? I question air and space, I gaze into the skies; And yet no slightest trace Of angels greets my eyes. Ah, past those clouds that bar And veil them from my sight, 118 Would I might fly afar To realms of radiant light! ST. CATHERINE AND ST. MARGARET: Thy pure sweet voice to heaven has pierced, dear child, From this time forth committed to our care! Thine angel guardian, ever undefiled, Has borne to God on high thy earnest prayer. Down from His heavenly palace we have flown, From His high court on His eternal hill; For by our voices He to thee makes known His holy will. Thou must go forth to save thy fatherland, To guard the faith, uphold God’s honor here. Thou as a conqueror in His sight shall stand, Preserved by Him and His own Mother dear. (TO JEANNE, WHO WEEPS.) Oh, dry thy tears, take comfort, tender heart! Beyond these clouds gaze into heaven’s delight; In our ecstatic chants thou shalt have part, Who by God’s grace shalt conquer in the fight. These sweet refrains thy soul shall fortify Against approaching combat fierce and dire. Jeanne! thou must suffer. Seek, then, from on high A love like fire! For the pure soul, in time’s long dreary night, Its only glory is, Christ’s cross to bear; And, in heaven’s endless day, with splendor bright That cross shall shine all radiant and fair. ST. MICHAEL: Michael am I, the guardian of France, Great Captain of the armies of the skies; Against hell’s troops I march with sword and lance, 119 And the old serpent glares with curious eyes. Once Satan far above the starry world Desired to reign, higher than seraphs trod; But, like a thunderbolt, at him I hurled These words: “ Oh, who is like to God! At that same moment vengeance, dread, divine, Oped hell’s abyss and thither thrust him deep. For that proud fallen angel, ah! no mercies shine; For him, what eyes shall weep? Pride tore down Satan from his lofty place, And of that morning-star an outcast made; But when man, too, had trifled with God’s grace, Pity and comfort were to him displayed. The Eternal Word, the Father’s Equal Son, Clothing Himself with poor humanity, Back to His Father’s heart the exiles won By His profound humility. Now that same Saviour deigns to succor France But not by any mighty soldier’s hand. He hath cast down the proud; He gives the conquering lance Unto a child’s frail hand. Jeanne! God has chosen thee His work to do. Thou must depart, obedient to His call; Unto thy fields, thy flocks, must bid adieu, To this dear vale, these woods, thy home, thy all. Be strong, go forth and save thy fatherland! Go forth — fear naught; all danger now despise! Go! in my might beside thee I shall stand. See how the foe before thee flies! Take thou this sword and bear it to the fray; — Long hath God kept it for thy hand to bring. Take for thy standard, child! this pure white flag to-day; Then go, — and find the king! JEANNE ALONE: For Thee alone, O God, I quit my father’s side, I leave my cherished friends, my parish-church so dear, For Thee I leave my flocks, my valleys green and wide, 120 My peaceful home, — to fight. Forgive me, if I fear! Instead of my white lambs, I must lead armed men; To Thee I sacrifice my joy, my eighteen years. I shall not see, alas! these flowery fields again; To serve Thee, Lord, I go, ‘mid shields and swords and spears. My voice, that mingles now with the soft breezes’ breath, Shall soon resound amid war’s clamors wild and drear; The piercing, frightful cries of battle and of death, Instead of sweet church-bells, shall reach my straining car. Yet, I desire the cross; the sacrifice is light; To suffer for Thee, Lord, ready and glad am I. Now deign to call Thy child to this sublime delight! Jesus, my Love, my All, for Thee I long to die. ST. MICHAEL: Thou must depart, O Jeanne! the time has come. It is the Lord Who arms thee for the fray. Soon shalt thou see our blest, eternal home! Daughter of God! fear not to die to-day. ST. MARGARET: Thou, child, with Him shalt reign above. ST. CATHERINE: Wherever goes the Lamb, thy virgin soul shall go. THE TWO SAINTS TOGETHER: Like us, thou, too, shalt sing the love And power of God most high, where crystal streamlets flow. ST. MICHAEL: Thy name, O Jeanne! on heaven’s scroll is placed, 121 With all who died that France might live for aye; There shall thy brow with glory’s crown be graced, Like royal queen upon her nuptial day. THE SAINTS, offering to Jeanne the palm and crown: With joy our loving eyes can see The radiance that even now upon thy head streams down; And from high heaven we bring to thee ST. CATHERINE: The martyr’s glorious palm, ST. MARGARET: The martyr’s crown. ST MICHAEL, presenting the sword: Before the victory must come the fight, Not yet the crown, not yet the palm can be. Win them where honor doth defend the right. Jeanne! dost thou hear the bugle call to thee? THE SAINTS TOGETHER: Thee will we guard throughout the fray; And splendid victories shall thy banner grace. On thy pure brow, one happy day, Our hand the glorious aureole shall place. JEANNE, ALONE: With you, dear saints, no foe I fear; Upon the Lord of hosts I wait. What time the battle draweth near, His arm shall send deliverance great. Oh, how I love my fatherland, 122 France, oldest daughter of the cross; That love to sacrifice is fanned; For her I count as gain all loss. Ah, no! I fear not now to die, Who long, dear God, Thy Face to see; Yet, as I go, oh ! hear my cry: Comfort my mother tenderly! And thou, St. Michael, strengthen me. ST. MICHAEL: Hark! for already all the elect in heaven Raise high their joyous chant, because they hear The illustrious name of Martyr gladly given, By Rome’s great Pontiff, to this maiden dear. I hear the universe declare The virtues of this maid in warlike armor drest; I hear God grant to her the rare And grand and glorious title, Jeanne the Blest. In those great days sore suff’ring France shall know, And impious deeds shall make her fail and faint. Then shall thy glory, Jeanne, more splendid grow, And all pure souls shall then invoke the Saint. The voices mount towards the skies, Mingling with angel-choirs, whose songs our hopes enhance. O Jeanne of Arc, now hear our cries! A second time, a second time, save France! 1894.

HYMN OF JEANNE D’ARC AFTER HER VICTORIES: All honor and all glory be 123 To Thee, the Eternal King of kings! For Thou hast given the victory To me, a frail and feeble thing. And thou, dear Mother, pure as snow, Most lovely star, sublimely bright! Oh, thou hast been my light below, Protecting me in danger’s night. Thou, Queen, whose glories ne’er shall fail, When shall mine eyes thy splendors see? When shall I rest beneath thy veil, Never again to part from thee? Hail, Mary! Holy Mother, hail! My exiled spirit fain would fly To heavenly joys that have no end; Naught here its needs can satisfy, — It craves for God, its perfect Friend. But, ere that sweet reward begin, I long to combat for Him here, For Him unnumbered souls to win, And find Him dearer and more dear. My exile here will pass away, As the day passes and is gone; Then, up the radiant, sunlit way, My happy soul shall hasten on, To see my God in endless day. PRAYER OF JEANNE D’ARC IN PRISON. My voices this foretold: I am a prisoner here, No aid can I expect, except, my God, from Thee; For love of Thee alone, I left my father dear; My flower-decked fields, blue skies, my flocks, no more I see. For Thee I left my home and her who gave me birth; Then, lifting in my hand the standard of Thy choice, Lord, in Thy holy Name, I led an army forth, And far-famed generals then gave credence to my voice. 124 Behold my recompense — this gloomy prison-place, The price of all my toils, my prayers, my blood, my tears! No more my flowery fields my longing eyes shall face, Nor shall I see the home of all my childhood years. No more shall I behold the mountains far away, Whose distant summits seemed to pierce the azure sky; And I shall hear no more the church-bells sweetly play. How soft upon the air those holy notes swept by! Here, in this gloomy cell, the star I seek in vain, That used, at vesper hour, to shine so clear and fair; In vain I seek the leaves, that when upon the plain Beside my flock I slept, gave cooling shelter there. Here, when at last I sleep after long bitter weeping, Of morning’s flowers I dream, and perfumes of the dawn; But then my clanking chains disturb that happy sleeping, — I wake — my dream is past — the verdant fields are gone. Lord, for Thy love I go, martyrdom to embrace; For Thee I dare to meet the lingering death of fire. Now but one wish is mine, — to see Thee face to face, No more to part from Thee: — behold my heart’s desire! To die for love of Thee, — what happier lot than this? I will take up my cross, and walk where Thou hast trod. Ah! how I long to die, and enter into bliss! Ah! how I long to die, and thus to see my God! IV. THE VOICES OF JEANNE D’ARC DURING HER MARTYRDOM: We have come down from heaven’s eternal height, To smile on thee and bear thee to thy rest. See in our hands the immortal crown of light, Designed to grace thy brow, O maiden blest! Come with us, virgin pure and fair! Oh! come where saints and martyrs trod; Come unto joys beyond compare, Come unto life most fair, Daughter of God! 125 Hot bums the fire about thy tender frame, But far more hotly burns thy holy love; Soon Christ will call thee to Him by thy name, And heavenly dews shall soothe thee from above. An angel comes to set thee free From every pain; from torture wild. Behold, the palm descends to thee! Look up! thy Saviour see, Great-hearted child! O virgin-martyr! one brief moment’s pain Thee shall conduct to heaven beside thy Lord. Thy death saves France. See! heaven opes again To her lost children ransomed by thy sword. JEANE, DYING: To my eternal home I fly; Angelic faces meet my view In God’s great Name for France I die! O Mary, now be nigh! “Jesu! Jesu!” V. THE DIVINE JUDGMENT: I answer from My throne thy voice that calls My name. I break thy iron bands, thy bitter foes I shame. Fly, fly thou pure white dove, to Me, thy Spouse, thy King! Come, reign with Me in heaven, where Saints thy praise shall sing. O Jeanne, thy angel brings thee grace; And I, the Judge of all thy race, Beside My own throne give thee place, And this proclaim: Even in thee I saw love’s holy flame. Thou shalt be crowned. Oh, come to Me! 126 Thy tears My hand shall wipe away; My kiss divine I give to thee; I crown with joy thy griefs to-day. With thy companions come To My eternal home; In heavenly valleys roam, Following the Lamb. Soul, well-beloved by Me, Lo! I have ransomed thee! Sing the new song, and be Where’er I am. Past is thy fleeting shame! Angels exalt thy name, Singing thy saintly fame, Close to My throne. Ah, timid shepherdess! Virgin in warrior’s dress! Thy name the world shall bless, Heavenward blown. Ah, timid shepherdess! Virgin in warrior’s dress! All heaven is now thine own. VI. THE CANTICLE OF TRIUMPH. THE SAINTS TO JEANNE D’ARC: The immortal crown to thee, O Jeanne! we bear; Thou martyr of high God! to thee the palm we bring; A glorious throne for thee our loving hands prepare, Beside the King. Rest now in heaven at last, rest now in heaven, pure bride, Escaped forevermore from every net and snare! In endless peace behold! the living waters glide ’Mid fields bestrewn with flowers most fair! Take thou thy flight; expand thy wings of snow; 127 For swiftly shalt thou speed from star to golden star. Through heaven’s eternal space, all joyous shalt thou go. Fly now afar! No cruel foes are here, no gloomy prison walls; The shining seraph hosts hail thee their sister blest; For thee, O spouse of Christ: thy Well-Beloved calls. Find now with Him eternal rest! JEANNE: He is my Own . . . . what ecstacy divine! All heaven is mine own! THE SAINTS: All heaven is thine own! JEANNE: The angels and the saints, Mary and God, are mine. They are mine own! THE SAINTS: Upon the far-off earth ages have passed away, Since thou didst pass from thence to heaven’s eternal joy, A thousand years in heaven seem but one little day. O endless day, without alloy! JEANNE: O endless day, without or cloud or shade, No power can snatch from me thy glory all divine! The passing show of earth from off my sight doth fade, And heaven is mine! THE SAINTS: 128 And heaven is thine! VII. PRAYER OF FRANCE TO THE VENERABLE JEANNE D’ARC: In heaven remember, Jeanne, your fatherland, Remember all her valleys decked with flowers; Recall the smiling plains, the mountains grand, You left, to dry her tears, in other hours. Remember how your arm saved France from deadly foes; How, like an angel sent from heaven, you cured her woes! Hear, in her night of pain, France call on you again: Remember now! Remember those great victories you won, Rheims, Orleans; those memorable days, When, in God’s name, grand deeds by you were done, Crowning your land with laurels and with bays. Now, far away from you, I suffer and I sigh. Come once again to save, who once for me didst die! Deign now to break my chains, And all my present pains Remember now! My arms with fetters bound, to you I cry, Dim are my eyes with tears, oh, bring relief! No longer great among earth’s queens am I, And mine own children pierce my heart with grief. No more for God they care; their Mother they despise. O Jeanne, compassionate my myriad miseries! Daughter of noble heart, Oh, come, and take my part. I hope in thee. VIII CANTICLE TO OBTAIN THE CANONIZATION OF THE VENERABLE JEANNE D’ARC. 129 Thy Church, O conquering God! through all the earth, Begs Thee to crown with the saint’s royal crown, A virgin, martyr, warrior, whose true worth In heaven’s high courts e’en now hath won renown. Our tumults calm; Her cause advance! The halo and the palm Give unto Jeanne of France! For guilty France we do not ask from Thee A mighty conquerer with mail-clad horde. Far better help Jeanne’s prayer can gain than he! One martyr doth outshine all heroes, Lord! Jeanne is Thy glorious handiwork alone; A heart of fire, a soldier’s soul of steel, Thou gavest to Thine handmaid, all Thine own, With lily and laurel crowned, for woe or weal. Beside her flock she heard the high command, — Voices from heaven called her to the fray; So she left all, to save her fatherland; Conquered by her, the foe fled far away. To martial hosts she brought God’s saving grace; Her eyes like heaven, her words like burning flame, Her holiness like theirs who see God’s Face. Bowed sinful souls in penitence and shame. (O marvel ne’er before in history told!) A kingdom’s crown and glory all undone, From the strong grasp of the invaders bold, By a young maiden’s feeble arm are won. Not thy great victories, O Jeanne so blest! Thy countrymen to celebrate are come; But thy true glories here they would attest, Thy purity, thy love, thy martyrdom. Though she saved France, hers was yet loftier grace, The gift Christ gave to those who loved Him best, Beside His cross to have the nearest place, He gave to Jeanne, before He gave her rest. In that last torture of consuming fire She heard her “voices” speak once more her name, 130 And left earth’s exile for her heart’s desire, Angel of France! up that steep path of flame. Daughter of God! deign now our voice to hear! Descend to us with thy sweet heavenly glance! Come, and convert the land to thee so dear! A second time, a second time, save France! By God’s great power In thee displayed, Save France! O come, save France, Thou saintly warrior-maid! Glorious’ O thou strong child of God! wast thou, When English hosts to meet thee did not dare; Yet, in thy father’s fields, — remember now, — Once weak and tender lambs were in thy care. Of all the weak Be the defence! In hearts of children meek, Preserve their innocence! Sweet martyr! keep our convents in thy care! Our virgins are thy sisters, each thine own, And like to thine the object of their prayer, — To see God reign in every heart alone. This their desire,- All souls to save. Now let them share thy fire, Apostle, martyr brave! When holy Church shall give thee crown and palm, How swiftly every fear in us will faint! Then can we sing in loud afid rapturous psalm, To Jeanne, our virgin, martyr, warrior-saint: — God grants us hope Through thee today! Saint Jeanne, Saint Jeanne of France, Pray for thy country, pray! 1894.