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Dinah Maria Mulock - Benedetta Minelli
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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 
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, 
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.
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