Poems (Hale)/The Nun

by Mary Whitwell Hale

THE NUN.

"My father! canst thou calmly look
 On her who once was dear to thee?
My mother! can affection brook
 This solemn sacrifice to see?
So young! But unto God and heaven
 Can I too young my spirit give?
Too early can the vow be given,
 For Him, my guardian God, to live?

Sister! to thee mine eye would turn,
 Thou who hast shared my youthful love.
But wouldst thou not the suppliant spurn?
 I rest my hope, my faith, above.
Wealth! wealth!—ah, take the glittering boon;
 With it my blessing and my prayer.
My sorrow too, that thou so soon,
 Sister, earth's phantom joys wouldst share.

Yes, take the gift. For thee, I leave
 For the cell's gloom, earth's brighter day.
What glorious wreaths the heart may weave!
 How soon they wither and decay!
Then bind the pearl around my brow,
 And gem my hair with diamonds bright.
Though some my lot may envy now,
 A happier one is mine ere night.

And bid them cull the flowers of Spring,
 Sweet Nature's fragrant coronet.
Let them the rose and lily bring,
 But ere they fade, my sun will set.
Like me those bright hues fade away,
 Those glowing tints by nature given.
But not mid darkness and decay,
 Fix they as I, their hopes on heaven.

But I have looked beyond the tomb,
 With faith to fairer realms on high;
Have pierced its cold and cheerless gloom,
 And raised to God my filial eye.
This gloomy prison cannot be
 The dwelling of my freeborn soul;
And its stern inmates soon may see
 My spirit, past their proud control."

Finished! that victim, peerless, bright,
 In robes of sacrifice arrayed,
Mid gems of clear and flashing light,
 Stands pure, and fair, and undismayed.
Finished! The pealing anthem's sound
 Reëchoes o'er the fretted dome.
With Spring's sweet flowerets she is crowned,
 And welcomed to her future home.

Heaves there from that young heart no sigh,
 As o'er her thoughts sweet memories rise?
What speaks from that uplifted eye,
 Communing with yon glorious skies?
No sigh disturbs that spirit meek,
 No cloud is on that holy brow,
No fires of passion flush her cheek;
 But all is calm and quiet now.

Yet in that calm, unclouded gaze,
 So pure, so eloquently bright
With faith's undimmed, celestial rays,
 There glows devotion's sacred light.
And now the tasseled velvet pall
 Enshrouds her young and lovely form.
Ah! what a solemn mockery all,
 To chill affections pure-and warm.
***
Those gems still flash, those flowers are bright;
 But she, to whom their hues were given,
Hers was an angel's blissful flight,
 Her Father—God; her dwelling—heaven.