THE SISTER OF CHARITY.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 109, 29 May 1875, Page 6

THE SISTER OF CHARITY.

The following exquisite lines are from the pen of the gifted Irish poet and writer, Gerald Griffin :— She once was a lady of honour and wealth, Bright glowed in her features the roses of health j Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold, And her motion shook perfume from every fold; Joy revelled around her — love shone at her side, And gay was her smile as the glance of a bride ;* And light was her step in the mirth-sounding hall, When she heard of the daughters of Vincent de Paul. She felt in her spirit the summons of grace, That told her to live for the suffering race ; And, heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home, Hose quickly, like Mary, and answered, " I come." She put from her person the trappings of pride, And passed from her home with the. joy of a bride, Nor wept at the threshold as onward she moved — For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved. Lost ever to fashion — to vanity lost, That beauty that once was fclie libertine's toast — No more in the ball-room tha,t figure we meet, But gliding at once to the wretch's retreat. Forgot in the halls is that high-sounding name, For the Sister of Charity blushes at fame : Forgot are the claim* of her riches and birth, For she barters for heaven the glory of earth. Those feet that to music could gracefully move, • Now bear her alone on the mission of love ; Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gem Are tending the helpless or lifted for them ; That voice that once echoed the song of the vain, Now whispers relief to the bosom of painj And the hair that was shinhig with diamond and pearl Is wet with the tears of jthe penitent girl. Her down-bed a pallet — her trinket a bead — Her lustre, one taper that serves her to read — Her sculpture, the crucifix nailed by her bed ; Her paintings, one print of the thorn-crown'd head j Her cushion, the pavement that wearies her knees, Her music, the psalm, or the sigh of disease ; The delicate lives mortified there, And the feast is forsaken f or fasting and prayer. Yet not to the service of heart and^of mind Are the cares of that heaven minded virgin confined : Like him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief, She hastes with the tidings of joy and relief. She strengthens the weary— she comforts the weak, And soft isher voice in the ear of the sick j Where want and affliction on mortals attend, The Sister of Charity there is a friend. Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath, Like an angel she moves 'mid the vapours of death j Where rings the long musket and flashes the sword, TJnfearing she walks, for she follows her Lord, How sweetly she bends o'er each plague-tainted face, With looks that are lighted with holiest grace ; How kindly she dresses each suffering limb, For she sees in the wounded the image of Him. Behold her, ye worldly ! — behold her, ye vain, Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain ; Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days, Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise. Ye lazy philosophers, self-seeking men — Ye fireside philanthropists, gx'eat at the pen, How stands in the balance your eloquence weigh' d With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid ?