“O bloom of lilies oversea!
O throng’d and banner’d citadels!
O clanging of continual bells
Upon the air triumphantly!
Let Christ remember not that we
Await him by these bitter wells.
“Make France so very glad and fair
That Christ, arisen may know today
That he (O green land, leagues away!)
Hath come into his kingdom there;
Let him not dream that otherwhere
Sad men have little heart to pray.
“For we would have him glad; although,
For us, joy may no be again.
Yea, though all day we watch the rain
Striving to waste the pitiless snow,
We would not have him see or know
The limits of our grievous pain.
“And even if he should stoop, perchance,
(Touching you gently on the stem
As you brush by his garment’s hem,)
Saying, with lighted countenance,
‘Across the sea, in my New France,
O lilies, how is it with them?’—
“Lean you up nearer to his face
(Tenderly sad, supremely wise)
And answer, ‘Uncle fair, blue skies,
Lord Jesus, in a fruitful place,
Their souls—the stronger for thy grace—
Draw nigh unto the sacrifice.’”
…So, striving to arouse their heavy faith,
Unto their distant Christ they sang and prayed
Until the gray clouds thinned, and the dull east
Grew half prophetic of the laboring sun.
“See! He hath heard! and all is well!” she cried. [page 138]
But as her voice rang hopefully and clear
Down the dim chapel aisle, ere any man
Had caught delight from her fair bravery,
There came upon them sudden gathering sounds
Of strife, of men clamoring, and despair,
Rumor of clashing steel and crumbling walls.
Yet not in vain their prayers! O risen Christ,
Was not that fight a glorious thing to see?
Between thine altar and the front o’ the foe
Was not thy hand the hand that lent the strength
Wherewith she drave them backward through the breach,
Far from their wounded, calling all the while?
I think that thou wert very glad, O Christ,
Watching these things; and yet, was it not thou
Who hadst made her heart the heart of very woman—
Strong for the battle, and then, when all was over,
Weak, and too prone to trust (even as a child
That wonders not at all, having belief)
In any chance-flung flag, white to the wind?...
