'Tis their own doing; this is none of mine; Ha! ha! And bring me offerings of fruit and flowers: Good people, you do ill to kneel to me. I am a sinner viler than you all. It may be I have wrought some miracles, And cured some halt and maim'd; but what of that? It may be, no one, even among the saints, May match his pains with mine. But what of that? Yet do not rise for you may look on me, I think you know I have some power with Heaven Yes, I can heal him. Power goes forth from me. They say that they are heal'd. Ah, hark! they shout "St. Simeon Stylites." Why, if so, God reaps a harvest in me. O my soul, God reaps a harvest in thee. If this be, Can I work miracles and not be saved? This is not told of any. They were saints. It cannot be but that I shall be saved; Yea, crown'd a saint. They shout, “Behold a saint! And lower voices saint me from above. Courage, St. Simeon! This dull chrysalis Cracks into shining wings, and hope ere death Spreads more and more and more, that God hath now Sponged and made blank of crimeful record all My mortal archives. O my sons, my sons, I, Simeon of the pillar, by surname The watcher on the column till the end; From my high nest of penance here proclaim Show'd like fair seraphs. On the coals I lay, A vessel full of sin: all hell beneath Made me boil over. Devils pluck'd my sleeve; I smote them with the cross; they swarm'd again. Your flesh, like me, with scourges and with thorns; Smite, shrink not, spare not. If it may be, fast To make me an example to mankind, Which few can reach to. Yet I do not say But that a time may come - yea, even now, Now, now, his footsteps smite the threshold stairs And you may carve a shrine about my dust, While I spake then, a sting of shrewdest pain These heavy, horny eyes. The end! the end! That holds a crown? Come, blessed mother, come. And from it melt the dews of Paradise, Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frankincense. Ah! let me not be fool'd, sweet saints. I trust That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven. And climbing up into mine airy home, For by the warning of the Holy Ghost, But thou, O Lord, Aid all this foolish people; let them take |