188 The Francis A. Drexel Family 
The clamours of the living city enter 
As if from some remote 
And severed world the place to which we lent her: 
—A sweet and solemn spot. 
Where all that Earth awhile could wrest from Heaven 
With breaking hearts we laid 
A white-robed form, a face like that which Stephen 
Turned to his Lord for aid. 
And when around that Lord upon His Altar, 
As once in Palestine, 
Gather the poor, the maimed, the sick, they falter 
Passing that slower-decked shrine; 
Faltering, pause, with wet eyes upward—gazing 
Seek the fair vanished face, 
Beyond the blue heights, where in splendour blazing 
Shine forth the Heavenly race! 
"When did her light step fall upon our threshold 
And joy not enter in? 
Whene'er her footstep rested on our threshold 
Fled sorrow not with sin?" 
—Ah, I should mar by euphuistic lending 
The story told by one 
Who saw—perhaps with smiles—poor women bending 
To kiss her cold grave-stone 
Gathering the soil which loosely lay around her 
As 'twere some relic rare 
That in the dwelling-place of angels bound her 
Still to her earthly care. 
Well may they kiss it reverently; well render 
A royal homage here.— 
Where had this Lady, pitiful, lofty, tender, 
'Mong crowned queens her peer!