On a golden autumn morning, <br />Just fifty years ago, <br />When harvests ripe lay smiling <br />In the sunshine’s yellow glow, <br />A pious group was standing <br />Round the lighted altar’s flame <br />In the humble convent chapel <br />Of the Nuns of Notre Dame. <br /> <br />A girl of fifteen summers, <br />With gentle, serious air, <br />In novice garb of purple, <br />Was humbly kneeling there; <br />Uttering the vows so binding <br />Whose magic power sufficed <br />To make that child-like maiden <br />The well-loved Bride of Christ. <br /> <br />No troubled, anxious shadow <br />O’er-clouded that young brow, <br />As with look and voice unfaltering <br />She breathed her solemn vow: <br />No regretful glances cast she <br />On the pomps that she had spurned, <br />Nor the dream of love and pleasure <br />From which she had coldly turned. <br /> <br />* * * * * <br /> <br />Fifty years of joy and sorrow <br />Since that day have o’er her flown— <br />Years of words and deeds of mercy, <br />Living but for God alone— <br />And again a group is standing, <br />By this holy scene enticed, <br />To renew the golden bridal <br />Of this faithful spouse of Christ. <br /> <br />True, her brow has lost the smoothness <br />And her cheek the fresh young glow <br />That adorned them on that autumn <br />Morning—fifty years ago; <br />But, oh! think not that her Bridegroom <br />Loves her anything the less; <br />He sees but the inward beauty <br />And the spirit’s loveliness. <br /> <br />Cloister honors long have fallen <br />Ceaseless, constant, to her lot, <br />But, like cloister honors falling, <br />Unto one who sought them not; <br />Daughter meek of the great Foundress <br />Of thy honored house and name, <br />Worthy art thou to be Abbess <br />Of the nuns of Notre Dame!<br /><br />Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-touching-ceremony/
