The nuns sing, "_Ora pro nobis_;"
The casements glitter above;
And the beautiful Virgin, whose robe is
Woven of infinite love,
Infinite love and sorrow,
Prays for them there on high--
Who has most need of her prayers,--to-morrow
Shall tell them!--they or I?
Up in the hills together
We loved, where the world was true;
Our world of the whin and heather,
Our skies of a nearer blue;
A blue from which one borrows
A faith that helps one die--
O Mother, thou Mother of Sorrows,
None needs such more than I!
We lived, we loved unwedded--
Love's sin and its shame that slays!--
No ill of the years we dreaded,
No day of their coming days;
Their coming days, their many
Trials by noon and night--
And I know no land, not any
Where the sun shines half so bright.
Was he false to me, my Mother!
Or I to him, my God!--
Who gave thee right, O brother!
To take God's right and rod!
God's rod of avenging morrows--
And the life here in my side!--
O Mother, sweet Mother of Sorrows,
Would that I, too, had died!
By the wall of the Chantry kneeling
I pray, and the organ rings,
"_Gloria! gloria!_" pealing,
"_Sancta Maria!_" sings.
They will find us dead to-morrow
By the wall of their nunnery--
O Mother, thou Mother of Sorrow,
His unborn babe and me.