Part 13

The sight of a Host uplifted! The silver-sound of a bell! The gleam of a golden chalice. Be glad, sad heart! 'tis well; He made, and He keeps love's promise, With thee all days to dwell.

From his hand to his lips that tremble, From his lips to his heart a-thrill, Goes the little Host on its love-path, Still doing the Father's will; And over the rim of the chalice The blood flows forth to fill

The heart of the man anointed With the waves of a wondrous grace; A silence falls on the altar -- An awe on each bended face -- For the Heart that bled on Calvary Still beats in the holy place.

The priest comes down to the railing Where brows are bowed in prayer; In the tender clasp of his fingers A Host lies pure and fair, And the hearts of Christ and the Christian Meet there -- and only there!

Oh! love that is deep and deathless! Oh! faith that is strong and grand! Oh! hope that will shine forever, O'er the wastes of a weary land! Christ's Heart finds an earthly heaven In the palm of the priest's pure hand.

In Memory of Very Rev. J. B. Etienne

Superior General of the Congregation of the Mission and of the Sisters of Charity.

A shadow slept folded in vestments, The dream of a smile on its face, Dim, soft as the gleam after sunset That hangs like a halo of grace Where the daylight hath died in the valley, And the twilight hath taken its place. A shadow! but still on the mortal There rested the tremulous trace Of the joy of a spirit immortal, Passed up to its God in His grace.

A shadow! hast seen in the summer A cloud wear the smile of the sun? On the shadow of death there is flashing The glory of noble deeds done; On the face of the dead there is glowing The light of a holy race run; And the smile of the face is reflecting The gleam of the crown he has won. Still, shadow! sleep on in the vestments Unstained by the priest who has gone.

And thro' all the nations the children Of Vincent de Paul wail his loss; But the glory that crowns him in heaven Illumines the gloom of their cross. They send to the shadow the tribute Of tears, from the fountains of love, And they send from their altars sweet prayers To the throne of their Father above.

Yea! sorrow weeps over the shadow, But faith looks aloft to the skies; And hope, like a rainbow, is flashing O'er the tears that rain down from their eyes. They murmur on earth "De Profundis", The low chant is mingled with sighs; "Laudate" rings out through the heavens -- The dead priest hath won his faith's prize.

His children in sorrow will honor His grave; every tear is a gem, And their prayers round his brow in the heavens Will brighten his fair diadem. I kneel at his grave and remember, In love, I am ~still~ one of them.

Tears

The tears that trickled down our eyes, They do not touch the earth to-day; But soar like angels to the skies, And, like the angels, may not die; For ah! our immortality Flows thro' each tear -- sounds in each sigh.

What waves of tears surge o'er the deep Of sorrow in our restless souls! And they are strong, not weak, who weep Those drops from out the sea that rolls Within their hearts forevermore, Without a depth -- without a shore.

But ah! the tears that are not wept, The tears that never outward fall; The tears that grief for years has kept Within us -- they are best of all; The tears our eyes shall never know, Are dearer than the tears that flow.

Each night upon earth's flowers below, The dew comes down from darkest skies, And every night our tears of woe Go up like dews to Paradise, To keep in bloom, and make more fair, The flowers of crowns we yet shall wear.

For ah! the surest way to God Is up the lonely streams of tears, That flow when bending 'neath His rod, And fill the tide of earthly years. On laughter's billows hearts are tossed, On waves of tears no heart is lost.

Flow on, ye tears! and bear me home; Flow not! ye tears of deeper woe; Flow on, ye tears! that are but foam Of deeper waves that will not flow. A little while -- I reach the shore Where tears flow not forevermore!

Lines (Two Loves)

Two loves came up a long, wide aisle, And knelt at a low, white gate; One -- tender and true, with the shyest smile, One -- strong, true, and elate.

Two lips spoke in a firm, true way, And two lips answered soft and low; In one true hand such a little hand lay Fluttering, frail as a flake of snow.

One stately head bent humbly there, Stilled were the throbbings of human love; One head drooped down like a lily fair, Two prayers went, wing to wing, above.

God blest them both in the holy place, A long, brief moment the rite was done; On the human love fell the heavenly grace, Making two hearts forever one.

Between two lengthening rows of smiles, One sweetly shy, one proud, elate, Two loves passed down the long, wide aisles, Will they ever forget the low, white gate?

The Land We Love

Land of the gentle and brave! Our love is as wide as thy woe; It deepens beside every grave Where the heart of a hero lies low.

Land of the sunniest skies! Our love glows the more for thy gloom; Our hearts, by the saddest of ties, Cling closest to thee in thy doom.