The Argosy — page 59: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

40 IN THE CLOISTER. In the old monastic garden, Where the shadows come and go, | Pace, in holy meditation, Sandalled brothers to and fro. *Twixt the rows of sunflowers, leaning To their god each burning heart, Past sweet herb and shrub, revealing Token of the healing art. Some in lofty contemplation, Watch the sunset colours red, é' Over breviary and missal, Bendeth many a cowled head. Abbey walls shut out the tumult Of the world—its strife and din ; Passionless and even beateth Heart and pulse those walls within. When the ponderous gates closed on them, Human life was left without, Human love and human feeling, Memory—all were blotted out. So at least the Church has willed it, But the heart is stronger still, And hath deeper needs implanted Than her narrow creed can fill. See the monk through yonder grating, In his solitary cell, Lifting yearning prayers to Heaven; All his troubles who can tell? Was it then for this, O Father, Orphaned, desolate to be, That I gave up Love, Home, Beauty ? Yet I feel no nearer Thee. Here in cloistered cell I thought me Heaven to find, and Peace and Rest; But here, too, hath sin dominion, And a home in monkish breast. Softly through the gathering twilight Rings the Angelus to prayer, And an Angel’s wing, in passing, Seems to stir the dusky air. Through the chapel windows streaming Floods of music drown his soul ; Holy chant and swelling anthem Make the wounded spirit whole. ‘* Come, O come, ye heavy laden,” *Tis to thee, poor monk, addressed ; ‘Come,’ ring on ye seraph voices— ‘‘Come, and I will give you rest.” a COPMIEMOOKS COM aT ey, ai