To hold the throne to which the king
Had called her, clothing her with white;
And never would she show her ring
To win a loving proselyte!

These were the thoughts and this the strife
That through her kindling spirit swept,
And wrought her purposes of life;
And powers that waked and powers that slept
Within the sweet and girlish wife.

Sprang into energy intense,
At touch of an inspiring chrism
That fell on her, she knew not whence,
And lifted her to heroism
Which wrapped her wholly, soul and sense.



X.

Meanwhile, through all the vaulted space
The organ sent its angels out;
And up and down the holy place
They fanned the cheeks of care and doubt,
And touched each worn and weary face

With beauty as their wings went by:
Then sailed afar with peaceful sweep,
And, calling heavenward every eye,