ST. AGNES. I. DEEP On the convent-roof the snows My breath to heaven like vapor goes: The shadows of the convent-towers Still creeping with the cree] ing hours Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. II. As these white robes are soiled and dark, To yonder shining ground; As this pale taper's earthly spark, But these, though fed with careful dirt, Better to me the meanest weed That blows upon its mountain, The vilest herb that runs to seed Beside its native fountain. And I must work through months of toil, And years of cultivation, ST. AGNES. I. DEEP On the convent-roof the snows My breath to heaven like vapor goes: The shadows of the convent-towers Still creeping with the cree] ing hours Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. II. As these white robes are soiled and dark, To yonder shining ground; As this pale taper's earthly spark, But these, though fed with careful dirt, That blows upon its mountain, And I must work through months of toil, And years of cultivation, Upon my proper patch of soil, To grow my own plantation. I'll take the showers as they fall, I will not vex my bosom : Enough, if at the end of all A little garden blossom. ST. AGNES. I. DEEP On the convent-roof the snows The shadows of the convent-towers Still creeping with the cree] ing hours That lead me to my Lord: Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. II. As these white robes are soiled and dark, To yonder shining ground; As this pale taper's earthly spark, |