THE
DRAWING ROOM SCRAP-BOOK.
THE DEVOTEE.
VIGNETTE TITLE.
PRAYER on her lips—yet, while the maiden prayeth,
A human sorrow deepens in her eyes;
For e’en the very words of prayer she sayeth,
A sad and lingering memory supplies.
She leans beside the vault where sleeps her mother,
The tablet has her name upon the wall—
Her only parent, for she knew no other;
In losing whom, the orphan lost her all.
Young, very young, she is, but wholly vanished
Youth’s morning colours from her cheek are gone;
All gayer and all careless thoughts are banished
By the perpetual presence of but one.
And yet that sweet face is not all of sorrow,
It wears a softer and a higher mood;
And seemeth from the world within to borrow
A holy and a constant fortitude.
Early with every sabbath-morn returning,
You hear her light step up the chancel come,
She looketh all the week with tender yearning
To that old church which is to her a home.
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