THERE'S a clump of lavender In the convent garden old, Alive with the pilferer Who wears a coat of gold. He swings and he sways As he sucks his sweet. All through a honeyed haze His wings cling and his feet. By the grey-blue lavender Fra Placid comes and goes— Sets on the grass-plot there His linen all in rows. The Lord God's altar-cloth Whereon is laid white bread For starving souls and both The white wine and the red. The marble Mother and Child Look down from a green space; Holy and undefiled, They give the garden grace. There, when the dews began And the suns ripened the peach, Fra Placid, sacristan, Laid his fair cloths to bleach. In the fresh morning time, May Christ all souls assoil! The bell ringing for Prime Summoned him to new toil. For hours he dusted and swept, Yea, he had little ease, At the noontide he slept, His head drooped to his knees. About the vesper hour He woke and slept again, Forgetting the sudden shower, The thieving, wandering men. Until, wide-waked at last, The linen came to mind; He ran with anxious haste, Fearing no cloths to find. There by the lavender He spied a wondrous sight; The pedestal was bare, Queen Mary walked in white. She walked with a still air Over the shining grass; The spikes of lavender Bent low as she did pass. No more in her embrace She clasped her sweetest Son. He leapt on the grassy space As a lamb might leap and run. He skipped like a white lamb Upon the daisied sod, Played many a merry game, The little Lamb of God. He gathered with delight The lavender, leaf and flower, And on the linen white He shook it in a shower. Placid, the sacristan, Fell on his face afraid. Tears down his old cheeks ran— Dear God, dear God! he said. Dear God, dear God! he wept; See how thy table-cloth Was well guarded and kept While I gave way to sloth. The bell called him to prayer, He went obediently: 'Twere well that all my care Had such sweet strewings, said he. |