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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;

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:

And heaven is thine!

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