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 Furl that Banner, softly, slowly! Treat it gently—it is holy, For it droops above the dead. Touch it not—unfold it never; Let it droop there, furled forever,— For its people's hopes are fled!

A CHILD'S WISH

I wish I were the little key That locks Love's Captive in, And lets Him out to go and free A sinful heart from sin.

I wish I were the little bell That tinkles for the Host, When God comes down each day to dwell With hearts He loves the most.

I wish I were the chalice fair, That holds the Blood of Love, When every gleam lights holy prayer Upon its way above.

I wish I were the little flower So near the Host's sweet face, Or like the light that half an hour Burns on the shrine of grace.