'
`And hast nor sister nor brother?' `No,' she said,
`God gave my mother only me; one year
This very day He parted us.' `Poor child,'
I murmured. `Nay, kind Sister,' she replied,
`I have much wealth -- they left me ample means --
I have true friends who love me and protect.
I was a minor until yesterday;
But yesterday all guardianship did cease,
And I am mistress of myself and all
My worldly means -- and, Sister, they are thine
If thou but take myself -- nay -- don't refuse.'
`Nay -- nay -- my child!' I said; `the only wealth
We wish for is the wealth of soul -- of grace.
Not all your gold could unlock yonder gate,
Or buy a single thread of Virgin's veil.
Not all the coins in coffers of a king
Could bribe an entrance here for any one.
God's voice alone can claim a cell -- a veil,
For any one He sends.
Who sent you here,
My child? Thyself? Or did some holy one
Direct thy steps? Or else some sudden grief?
Or, mayhap, disappointment? Or, perhaps,
A sickly weariness of that bright world
Hath cloyed thy spirit? Tell me, which is it.'
`Neither,' she quickly, almost proudly spoke.
`Who sent you, then?'
`A youthful Christ,' she said,
`Who, had he lived in those far days of Christ,
Would have been His belov'd Disciple, sure --
Would have been His own gentle John; and would
Have leaned on Thursday night upon His breast,
And stood on Friday eve beneath His cross
To take His Mother from Him when He died.
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