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BENEDETTA MINELLI.
I.
THE NOVICE.
- IT is near morning. Ere the next night fall
- I shall be made the bride of heaven. Then home
- To my still marriage chamber I shall come,
- And spouseless, childless, watch the slow years crawl.
- These lips will never meet a softer touch
- Than the stone crucifix I kiss; no child
- Will clasp this neck. Ah, virgin‐mother mild,
- Thy painted bliss will mock me overmuch.
- This is the last time I shall twist the hair
- My mother’s hand wreathed, till in dust she lay:
- The name, her name, given on my baptism‐day,
- This is the last time I shall ever bear.
- O weary world, O heavy life, farewell!
- Like a tired child that creeps into the dark
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- To sob itself asleep, where none will mark,—
- So creep I to my silent convent cell.
- Friends, lovers whom I loved not, kindly hearts
- Who grieve that I should enter this still door,
- Grieve not. Closing behind me evermore,
- Me from all anguish, as all joy, it parts.
- Love, whom alone I loved; who stand’st far off,
- Lifting compassionate eyes that could not save,
- Remember, this my spirit’s quiet grave
- Hides me from worldly pity, worldly scoff.
- ’T was less thy hand than Heaven’s which came between,
- And dashed my cup down. See, I shed no tears:
- And if I think at all of vanished years,
- ’T is but to bless thee, dear, for what has been.
- My soul continually does cry to thee;
- In the night‐watches ghost‐like stealing out
- From its flesh tomb, and hovering thee about;
- So live that I in heaven thy face may see!
- Live, noble heart, of whom this heart of mine
- Was half unworthy. Build up actions great,
- That I down looking from the crystal gate
- Smile o’er our dead hopes urned in such a shrine.
- Live, keeping aye they spirit undefiled,
- That, when we stand before our Master’s feet,
- I with an angel’s love may crown complete
- The woman’s faith, the worship of the child.
- Dawn, solemn bridal morn; ope, bridal door;
- I enter. My vowed soul may Heaven take;
- My heart its virgin spousal for thy sake;
- O love, keeps sacred thus forevermore.
II.
THE SISTER OF MERCY.
- IS it then so?—Good friends, who sit and sigh
- While I lie smiling, are my life’s sands run?
- Will my next matins, hymned beyond the sun,
- Mingle with those of saints and martyrs high?
- Shall I with these my gray hairs turned to gold,
- My aged limbs new clad in garments white,
- Stand all transfigured in the angels’ sight,
- Singing triumphantly that moan of old,—
- Thy will be done? It was done. O my God,
- Thou know’st, when over grief’s tempestuous sea
- My broken‐wingèd soul fled home to Thee,
- I writhed, but never murmured at Thy rod.
- It fell upon me, stern at first, then soft
- As parent’s kisses, till the wound was healed;
- And I went forth a laborer in Thy field:—
- They best can bind who have been bruisèd oft.
- And Thou wert pitiful. I came heart‐sore,
- And drank Thy cup because earth’s cups ran dry:
- Thou slew’st me not for that impiety,
- But madest the draught so sweet, I thirst no more.
- I came for silence, heavy rest, or death:
- Thou gavest instead life, peace, and holy toil:
- My sighing lips from sorrow didst assoil,
- And fill with righteous thankfulness each breath.
- Therefore I praise Thee that Thou shuttest Thine ears
- Unto my misery: didst Thy will, not mine:
- That to this length of days Thy hand divine,
- My feet from falling kept, mine eyes from tears.
- Sisters, draw near. Hear my last words serene:
- When I was young I walked in mine own ways,
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- Worshipped—not God: sought not alone His praise;
- So he cut down my gourd while it was green.
- And then He o’er me threw His holy shade,
- That though no other mortal plants might grow,
- Mocking the beauty that was long laid low,
- I dwelt in peace, and His commands obeyed.
- I thank Him for all joy and for all pain:
- For healèd pangs, for years of calm content:
- For blessedness of spending and being spent
- In His high service where all loss is gain.
- I bless Him for my life and for my death;
- But most, that in my death my life is crowned,
- Since I see there, with angels gathering round,
- My angel. Ay, love, thou hast kept thy faith,
- I mine. The golden portals will not close
- Like those of earth, between us. Reach thy hand!
- No miserere, sisters. Chant out grand
- Te Deum laudamus. Now,—’t is all repose.
