To Miss Sellon

The vestal priestess of a sisterhood who knows
No self, and whom the selfish scorn--
She seeks a wilderness of weed and thorn,
And, undiverted from the blessed mood
By keen reproach or blind ingratitude,
A wreath she twines of blossoms lowly born--
An amaranthine crown of flowers forlorn--
And hangs her garland on the Holy Rood.
Sister of Mercy, bravely hast thou won
From men who winnow charity from Faith
The Pharasaic sneer that treats as dross
The works by faith ordained. Pursue thy path,
Till, at the last, thou hear the voice--“Well done,
Thou good and faithful servant of the Cross.”