THE BISHOP'S WELCOME.
139
Sweet crimson-tinted rose-buds droop— Their petals scarcely cleft apart,—And from their half-unfolded bloomThey steep in subtle, soft perfume The altar of the Sacred Heart.
About another altar these, The lilies, roses, all combineTo lend their beauty and their grace,And all their richest glories place Upon our Virgin Lady's shrine.
And here as ever bended heads The blossom-laden breezes sweep;With trembling hearts and tear-wet eyes,We think of one who silent lies Beneath us in his dreamless sleep.
Dear Father Chambodnt! his loss Is still so fresh and full of pain—His vacant place, his empty chair,That marble tablet lying there, All bring his memory back again.
Around the great, grand altar bloom A thousand countless flowers rare;
