Still kneeling like a saint before a shrine, She closed her eyes. Then lifting up toward heaven His hands, the pastor prayed,--prayed that her soul Might be forever kept from stain and sin; That Christ might live in her, and through her life Shine into other souls; might give her strength To master all temptation, and to keep The vows that day assumed; might comfort her In every sorrow, and, in death's dread hour, Bear her in hopeful triumph to the rest Prepared for those who love him. All this scene I saw through blinding tears. The poetry That like a soft aureola embraced Within its cope those two contrasted forms; The eager observation and the hush That reigned through all the house; the breathless spell Of sweet solemnity and tender awe Which held all hearts, when she, The Beautiful, Received the sign of marriage to The Good, O'erwhelmed me, and I wept. Shall I confess That in the struggle to repress my tears And hold my swelling heart, I grudged her gift, And felt that, by the measure she had risen, She had put space between herself and me, And quenched my hope? She stood while courtesy Of formal Christian welcome was bestowed; Then straightway sought her seat, as though no eyes But those of One unseen observed her steps. I saw her taste the sacramental bread, And touch the silver chalice to her lips; And while she thought of Him, The Spotless One Whose flesh and blood were symboled to her heart, And worshipped in her thought, I ate and drank Her virgin beauty--with what guilty sense Of profanation! Last, the closing hymn Gave me her voice again; and this I drank; Nay, this invaded and pervaded me. Its subtile search found out the sleeping chords Of sympathy; and on the bridge of sound It built between our souls, I crossed, and saw Into the depths of purity and love-- The full, pathetic power of womanhood-- From which the structure sprang. Just once I caught her eyes. She blushed with consciousness Of my strong gaze; but paused not in her hymn Till she had given to every word the wings That bore it, like a singing bird, toward heaven. The benediction fell; and then the throng Passed slowly out. I was the last to go. I saw a man whom I had known, and shrank Both from his greetings and his questionings. One thing I learned: that she who thus had joined This cluster of disciples was not born And reared among their number: that was plain. I saw it in her bearing and her dress; In that unconsciousness of self that comes Of gentle breeding, and society Of gentle men and women; in the ease With which she bore the awkward deference Of those who spoke with her adown the aisle; In distant and admiring gaze of men, And the cold scrutiny of village girls Who passed for belles.