LADYE CHAPEL AT EDEN HALL
By Eleanor C. Donnelly
Close to the Sacred Heart, it nestles fair—A marble poem; an aesthetic dreamOf sculptured beauty, fit to be the themeOf angel fancies; a Madonna-prayerUttered in stone. Round columns light as air,And fretted cornice, Sharon’s Rose is wreathed—The passion-flower, the thorn-girt lily rare,The palm, the wheat, the grapes in vine-leaves sheathed.Tenderly bright, from mullioned windows glowOur Lady’s chaplet-mysteries. Behold,Her maiden statue in that shrine of snow,Looks upward to the skies of blue and gold;Content that in the crypt, beneath her shining feet,The holy ones repose in dreamless slumber sweet.
Close to the Sacred Heart, it nestles fair—A marble poem; an aesthetic dreamOf sculptured beauty, fit to be the themeOf angel fancies; a Madonna-prayerUttered in stone. Round columns light as air,And fretted cornice, Sharon’s Rose is wreathed—The passion-flower, the thorn-girt lily rare,The palm, the wheat, the grapes in vine-leaves sheathed.Tenderly bright, from mullioned windows glowOur Lady’s chaplet-mysteries. Behold,Her maiden statue in that shrine of snow,Looks upward to the skies of blue and gold;Content that in the crypt, beneath her shining feet,The holy ones repose in dreamless slumber sweet.
Close to the Sacred Heart, it nestles fair—A marble poem; an aesthetic dreamOf sculptured beauty, fit to be the themeOf angel fancies; a Madonna-prayerUttered in stone. Round columns light as air,And fretted cornice, Sharon’s Rose is wreathed—The passion-flower, the thorn-girt lily rare,The palm, the wheat, the grapes in vine-leaves sheathed.Tenderly bright, from mullioned windows glowOur Lady’s chaplet-mysteries. Behold,Her maiden statue in that shrine of snow,Looks upward to the skies of blue and gold;Content that in the crypt, beneath her shining feet,The holy ones repose in dreamless slumber sweet.
Close to the Sacred Heart, it nestles fair—
A marble poem; an aesthetic dream
Of sculptured beauty, fit to be the theme
Of angel fancies; a Madonna-prayer
Uttered in stone. Round columns light as air,
And fretted cornice, Sharon’s Rose is wreathed—
The passion-flower, the thorn-girt lily rare,
The palm, the wheat, the grapes in vine-leaves sheathed.
Tenderly bright, from mullioned windows glow
Our Lady’s chaplet-mysteries. Behold,
Her maiden statue in that shrine of snow,
Looks upward to the skies of blue and gold;
Content that in the crypt, beneath her shining feet,
The holy ones repose in dreamless slumber sweet.