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 Within their austere walls no voices penetrate; A sacred silence only, as of death, obtains; Nothing finds entry here of loud or passionate; This quiet is the exceeding profit of their pain.

From many lands they came, in divers fiery ways; Each knew at last the vanity of earthly joys; And one was crowned with thorns, and one was crowned with bays, And each was tired at last of the world's foolish noise.

It was not theirs with Dominic to preach God's holy wrath, They were too stern to bear sweet Francis' gentle sway; Theirs was a higher calling and a steeper path, To dwell alone with Christ, to meditate and pray.

A cloistered company, they are companionless, None knoweth here the secret of his brother's heart: They are but come together for more loneliness, Whose bond is solitude and silence all their part.

O beatific life! Who is there shall gainsay, Your great refusal's victory, your little loss, Deserting vanity for the more perfect way, The sweetest service of the most dolorous Cross.

Ye shall prevail at last! Surely ye shall prevail! Your silence and your austerity shall win at last: Desire and Mirth, the world's ephemeral lights shall fail, The sweet star of your queen is never overcast.