The lights yet gleamed on the holy shrine, the incense hung around, <br />But the rites were o’er, the silent church re-echoed to no sound; <br />Yet kneeling there on the altar steps, absorbed in ardent prayer, <br />Is a girl, as seraph meek and pure—as seraph heav’nly fair. <br /> <br />The blue eyes, veiled by the lashes long that rest on that bright cheek <br />Are humbly bent, while the snow-white hands are clasped in fervor meek, <br />While in the classic lip and brow, each feature of that face, <br />And graceful high-bred air, is seen she comes of noble race. <br /> <br />But, say, what means that dusky robe, that dark and flowing veil, <br />The silver cross—oh! need we ask? they tell at once their tale: <br />They say that, following in the path that fair as she have trod, <br />She hath renounced a fleeting world, to give herself to God. <br /> <br />Her sinless heart to no gay son of this earth hath she given, <br />Her’s is a higher, holier lot, to be the Bride of Heaven; <br />And the calm peace of the cloister’s walls, abode of humble worth, <br />Is the fit home for that spotless dove, too fair, too pure for earth.<br /><br />Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-young-novice/
