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Rh That aids their hymning voices, and around Moves in the might and majesty of sound. The pages of the Holy Book are read, The solemn blessing of the Priest is said, Departing footsteps gently press the floor, And silence seals and guards the consecrated door. Along his homeward pathway, lingering slow, His dark weeds tokening a mourner’s woe, The Gospel-Teacher comes. The path inclines His steps beside the cradle-bower of vines Where sleeps the boy. A moment’s mute surprise, And the mazed mourner greets, with grateful eyes, The enlivening presence of that cherub face, Delighted in its loveliness to trace The memorial beauty of his own lost boy, A blossomed bud, death-doomed, in its spring-time of joy; And says, in whispers, “Would that I might wake, And woo, and win him, for his soul’s sweet sake, To make my home his cloister, and entwine All his life’s hopes and happiness with mine. And with him win, dear daughter of the sky! Handmaid of Heaven! immortal Piety! Thy visitings, and joy to see thee bring In sisterly embrace, wing folding wing, Meek Faith, sweet Hope, and Charity divine, With thee to consecrate that home a shrine Among the holiest where the adorer kneels, Listening the coming of thy chariot-wheels.