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<h2><!-- page 6--><SPAN name="page6"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>THE PRIEST’S BROTHER</h2>
<p style="text-align: center">BY DORA SIGERSON<br/>
(MRS CLEMENT SHORTER)</p>
<p class="poetry">Thrice in the night the priest arose<br/>
From broken sleep to kneel and pray.<br/>
“Hush, poor ghost, till the red cock crows,<br/>
And I a Mass for your soul may say.”</p>
<p class="poetry">Thrice he went to the chamber cold,<br/>
Where, stiff and still uncoffinèd,<br/>
His brother lay, his beads he told,<br/>
And “Rest, poor spirit, rest,” he said.</p>
<p class="poetry">Thrice lay the old priest down to sleep<br/>
Before the morning bell should toll;<br/>
But still he heard—and woke to weep—<br/>
The crying of his brother’s soul.</p>
<p class="poetry">All through the dark, till dawn was pale,<br/>
The priest tossed in his misery,<br/>
With muffled ears to hide the wail,<br/>
The voice of that ghost’s agony.</p>
<p class="poetry">At last the red cock flaps his wings<br/>
To trumpet of a day new-born.<br/>
The lark, awaking, soaring sings<br/>
Into the bosom of the morn.</p>
<p class="poetry"><!-- page 7--><SPAN name="page7"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>The priest before the altar stands,<br
/>
He hears the spirit call for peace;<br/>
He beats his breast with shaking hands.<br/>
“O Father, grant this soul’s release.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Most Just and Merciful, set free<br/>
From Purgatory’s awful night<br/>
This sinner’s soul, to fly to Thee,<br/>
And rest for ever in Thy sight.”</p>
<p class="poetry">The Mass is over—still the clerk<br/>
Kneels pallid in the morning glow.<br/>
He said, “From evils of the dark<br/>
Oh, bless me, father, ere you go.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Benediction, that I may rest,<br/>
For all night did the Banshee weep.”<br/>
The priest raised up his hands and blest—<br/>
“Go now, my child, and you will sleep.”</p>
<p class="poetry">The priest went down the vestry stair,<br/>
He laid his vestments in their place,<br/>
And turned—a pale ghost met him there,<br/>
With beads of pain upon his face.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Brother,” he said, “you have
gained me peace,<br/>
But why so long did you know my tears,<br/>
And say no Mass for my soul’s release,<br/>
To save the torture of all those years?”</p>
<p class="poetry"><!-- page 8--><SPAN name="page8"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>“God rest you, brother,”
the good priest said,<br/>
“No years have passed—but a single night.”<br
/>
He showed the body uncoffinèd,<br/>
And the six wax candles still alight.</p>
<p class="poetry">The living flowers on the dead man’s
breast<br/>
Blew out a perfume sweet and strong.<br/>
The spirit paused ere he passed to rest—<br/>
“God save your soul from a night so long.”</p>
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