Whose lamps are stirred continually

With prayer sent up to God;

And see our old prayers, granted, melt

Each like a little cloud.

'We two will lie i' the shadow of

That living mystic tree

Within whose secret growth the Dove

Is sometimes felt to be,

While every leaf that His plumes touch

Saith His Name audibly.

'And I myself will teach to him,

I myself, lying so,

The songs I sing here; which his voice
Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
And find some knowledge at each pause,
Or some new thing to know.'

(Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st!

Yea, one wast thou with me

That once of old. But shall God lift

To endless unity

The soul whose likeness with thy soul

Was but its love for thee?)

'We two,' she said, 'will seek the groves

Where the lady Mary is,

With her five handmaidens, whose names

Are five sweet symphonies,

Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,

Margaret and Rosalys.

'Circlewise sit they, with bound locks And foreheads garlanded;

Into the fine cloth white like flame

Weaving the golden thread,

To fashion the birth-robes for them
Who are just born, being dead.

'He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: Then will I lay my cheek

To his, and tell about our love,

Not once abashed or weak:
And the dear Mother will approve
My pride, and let me speak.

'Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,

To him round whom all souls

Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads

Bowed with their aureoles:

And angels meeting us shall sing
To their citherns and citoles.

'There will I ask of Christ the Lord
Thus much for him and me:-

Only to live as once on earth
With Love, only to be,

As then awhile, for ever now
Together, I and he.'

She gazed and listened and then said,
Less sad of speech than mild,-

'All this is when he comes.' She ceased. The light thrilled towards her, fill'd

With angels in strong level flight.
Her eyes prayed, and she smil'd.

(I saw her smile.) But soon their path Was vague in distant spheres: And then she cast her arms along

The golden barriers,

And laid her face between her hands,

And wept. (I heard her tears.)

SISTER HELEN.

'WHY did you melt your waxen man,

Sister Helen?

To-day is the third since you began.'

'The time was long, yet the time ran,

Little brother.'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

'But if you have done your work aright,

Sister Helen,

You'll let me play, for you said I might.'

'Be very still in your play to-night,

Little brother.'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

'You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,

Sister Helen;

If now it be molten, all is well.'

'Even so,-nay, peace! you cannot tell,

Little brother.'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

'Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen;

How like dead folk he has dropped away!'

'Nay now, of the dead what can you say,

Little brother?'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

'See, see, the sunken pile of wood,

Sister Helen,

Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!'

'Nay now, when looked you yet on blood,

Little brother ?'

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)