Poems (Laflin)/The Vision

by Ellen P. Laflin

For works with similar titles, see The Vision.

THE VISION.

IN the quiet of her cell,
 A rudely carved cross before,
With her face upturned to Heaven,
 Knelt the Sister, Leonore.

Midnight 'twas within the chamber,
 The shadows flitted to and fro,
As the light of the wax taper
 Flickered up and then fell low.

There with white hands clasping tightly
 O'er a time-worn rosary,
Telling o'er the beads upon it,
 Praying ever reverently.

"Ave, Lord and Holy Virgin,
 I beseech you, hear my prayer,
Hark to one despairing, calling,
 Groping vainly in the air.

"Three years in this convent's shelter,
 I have tried to do my part;
You who know that which is needful,
 Send contentment to my heart."

All at once through the fitful darkness
 Glowed a softening golden light—
Leonora gazed bewildered—
 Brighter grew it, and more bright.

Till at last within the brightness
 She beheld the wondrous sight
Of an angel gazing at her,
 Clad in robes of purest white.

Gazing lovingly upon her,
 Hands outstretched as though to calm,
And the smile upon his features
 Was to her sore heart as balm.

"Leonora, lift thy head up,
 Thy prayers are heard at Heaven's throne,
And the seeds of peace forever
 In thy heart thy tears have sown."

With a look of infinite beauty,
 Bent he toward the adoring nun,
Pressed a kiss upon her forehead,
 Then she knew his work was done.

Fainter grew the vision, fainter,
 And the bright light seemed to cease,
Left the room in fitful darkness
 And the woman's soul in peace.

Ever after through her lifetime,
 On her brow there glowed a cross of gold,
Where the angel bent and kissed her
 When she vigil kept of old.