Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SISTER MARGARET BOURGEOYS, by THOMAS D'ARCY MCGEE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SISTER MARGARET BOURGEOYS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Dark is the light of prophecy - no heavenly dews distill
Subject(s): Nuns


Dark is the light of Prophecy - no heavenly dews distill
On Sion's rock, on Jordan's vale, or Hermon's holy hill -
Save us, 0 Lord ! the Psalmist cries, pouring his soul's complaint;
Save us, O Lord ! in these our days, for Israel has no Saint.


Not half so dark the sky of night, her starry hosts without,
As the night-time of the nations when God's living lamps go out.
But wondrous is the love of God ! who sends his shining host,
From age to age, from race to race, from utmost coast to coast;


And wondrous 'twas in our own land - e'en on the spot we tread -
Ere yet the forest monarchs to the axe had bow'd the head,
That in our very hour of dawn, a light for us was set,
Here on the royal mountain's side, whose lustre guides us yet.


'Tis pleasant in the gay greenwood - so all the poets sing -
To breathe the very breath of flowers, and hear the sweet birds sing,
'Tis pleasant to shut out the world - behind their curtain green,
And live and laugh, or muse and pray, forgotten and unseen;


But men or angels seldom saw a sight to heaven more dear,
Than Sister Margaret and her flock, upon our hillside here.
From morn till eve, a hum arose, above the maple trees,
A hum of harmony and praise from Sister Margaret's bees;


Egyptian hue and speech uncouth, grew fair and sweet, when won
To sing the song of Mary, and to serve her Saviour Son;
The courier halted on his path, the sentry on his round,
And bare-head bless'd the holy nun who made it holy ground.


There came a day of tempest, where all was peace before -
The Huron war-cry rang dismay on Hochelaga's shore -
Then in that day all men confess'd, with all man's humbled pride,
How brave a heart, till God's good time, a convent serge may hide.


The savage triumph'd o'er the saint - a tiger in the fold -
But the mountain mission stands to-day ! the Huron's tale is told!
Glory to God who sends his saints to all the ends of earth,
Wherever Adam's erring race have being or have birth,


Glory to God who sheds his saints, our sunshine and our dew,
Through all the realms and nations of the Old World and the
New,
Who perfumes the Pacific with his lily and his rose,


Who sent his holy ones tob less and bloom amid our snows!
Dear Mother of our mountain home ! loved foundress of our school -
Pray for thy children that they keep thy every sacred rule,
Beseech thy glorious Patron - our Lady full of grace -


To guide and guard thy sisterhood - and her who fills thy place,
Thy other self - to whom we know all glad obedience given
As rendered to thyself will be repaid tenfold in heaven !
For thee, my Country ! many are the gifts God gives to thee,


And glorious is thine aspect, from the sunset to the sea;
And many a cross is in thy midst, and many an altar fair,
And many a place where men may lay the burden that they bear.
Ah ! may it be thy crowning gift, the last as 'twas the first,
To see thy children at the knee of Margaret Bourgeoys nursed.








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