Poems (Hale)/The Bridal

by Mary Whitwell Hale

For works with similar titles, see The Bridal.

THE BRIDAL.

The breath of prayer ascends to Heaven,
 While hearts in homage bow,
And a gentle form is kneeling there,
 To breathe her bridal vow.
With a brow as meek, a heart as warm,
 As the humblest in her land,
The royal maiden plights her troth,
 With a true but trembling hand.

Not wealth or rank alone she gives,
 Though bright the baubles shine;
But a heart is in the maiden's hand,
 Priceless as love's own mine.
What a holy gush of joy wells forth
 From her soul's deep tenderness,
As steal those words upon her ear,
 Which her inmost spirit bless!

Blessings upon thy future way,
 Thou of a kingly line!
May the flame that lights thy young heart now
 E'er feed the holy shrine!
Nor be the wealth of thy tenderness
 Thrown back on the lonely heart,
Which sees, with silent misery,
 The star of its hopes depart.

But true as shines heaven's radiant arch,
 Be that undying beam,
Which makes the light of departing age
 Brighter than youth's gay dream.
And though, at the wizard touch of death,
 The holiest ties are riven,
Love's mystic chain but parts on earth,
 To be clasped more close in heaven.