SISTER CECILY

Alas for Sister Cecily!
To whom prayeth she,
Till feet are numb and pained knees torn
And pale lips inward driven,
Eye-lifting orisons at morn,
Low-lidded prayers at even?

She prayeth to Mary Mother and Queen,
Who still hath been
Who keepeth child and maid from harm,
Our Lady with eyes of dole,
With a lily along her conscious arm
And a virgin's aureole.

For of the Virgin it is said
That she hath bled
At seven pains for her sad son
And therefore for us all,
Whose souls by heavenly hands are spun
Out of the same white wool.

So to her prayeth Cecily
That all may be
Washed pure in the perennial fount
Where the saints meet,
And given to reach the Shining Mount
Though with torn feet.

And though she know me not, nor pray
For me, oh! may
Her prayer for man's woe make me part
Of what she says,
So a vague rest fall on my heart
Because she prays.