And many a little brow had watched
For weeks some favourite flower,
Proud and impatient of its growth
For this auspicious hour.
And many a little heart had linked
Its deepest, dearest prayer,
And the fulfilment of its hope
With the sweet offerings there.
One bore a banner, where was wrought
The Virgin and her Son—
Her younger sister and herself
The broidery begun.
But she who held the banner now
Went on her way alone;
No sister shared the sacred task:—
Her sister's task was done!
As yet the grass was scarcely grown
Upon that bright young head;
As yet the tears were warm that fell
Above the early dead.
Poor child! how pale and sorrowful
She takes her silent way!
A prayer for the departed one
Is on her lips to-day.
