THIS is the convent where they tend the sick, Comfort the dying, make the ailing strong; Covered, you see, with ivy, very thick; Haunt of the birds, alive with bloom and song. The happy sick are smiling in their beds, The happy sisters flitting to and fro; Ah, blessings on the wise and gentle heads That planned this place a hundred years ago! To build the walls a woman crossed the sea, Travelled with tender feet a weary road. I'll tell you now the little history Of Sister Mary of the Love of God. A lovely maiden of a high estate, She danced away her days in careless glee; A bird beside her window came and sate, And piped and sang, "@3The Lord has need of thee!@1" Deep in the night, when everything was still, The restless dance, the music's merry clang, That bird would perch upon the window sill: "@3The Lord hath need of thee@1," it piped and sang. She rose and fled her chamber in affright, And roused with eager call the minstrel gray: "The birds are singing strange things in the night; Tune me, O minstrel, something blythe and gay!" The minstrel struck his harp with ready power; The laughing echoes wakened merrily; The lady turned as white as lily-flower, -- The music trilled, "@3The Lord has need of thee!@1" Her guests came round her and her ballroom blazed, While lively footsteps on the floor did beat; The lady led the dance with looks amazed, -- "@3The Lord doth need thee!@1" said the dancers' feet. The feast was spread, and flowed the rarest wine In golden goblets clinking round the board; The flashing cups from hand to hand did shine, And rang and chimed "@3Go, give thee to the Lord!@1" Within her chamber long the lady sate, Then raised her downcast face, all pale and sweet: "There is a beggar lying at the gate -- Go, bring him in, that I may wash his feet." They looked upon her robes of satin sheen, They looked upon her eyes so strange and glad; They whispered, "She is not as she hath been;" Her damsels wept, "Our lady hath gone mad!" But in the night she stole away alone. Then sang the minstrels many a mournful rhyme, Till some forgot her as one never known, And others said, "She hath some heavy crime." Ah me, it is a hundred years ago! -- This ivy on the walls is thick, you see; The world would laugh if I should tell it so Of Sister Mary's little history. Another dances in her shoes to-day; One wears that gem of hers, another this; But she is happy and the poor are gay, The sick are smiling and the dead in bliss! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LENTEN GREETING; TO A LADY by GEORGE SANTAYANA QUA CURSUM VENTUS by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH THE DRUM: THE NARRATIVE OF THE DEMON OF TEDWORTH by EDITH SITWELL PURSUIT AND POSSESSION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |