The Holy Lady

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Title:     The Holy Lady
Author: James Avis Bartley [More Titles by Bartley]

Oh, Heaven hath given to earth some souls,
Of rarest loveliness,
Whose being's constant current rolls,
The wretched still to bless.

Well wishing Heaven hath given to earth,
Some hearts of purest fire,
To renovate our sinful birth,
And raise our low desire.

The Holy Lady did not go
Afar, by sea or land,
But ministered to sighing wo,
And suffering near at hand.

'Twas sweet to see the Lady fair,
Each blessed sabbath morn,
Wear such a sweetly solemn air,
Of bright devotion, born.

'Twas sweet to see her bow at eve,
On lowly bended knee,
To pray, and sadly, sweetly grieve,
For man's perversity.

But sure were we that city fine,
Wherein this Lady dwelt,
Was bettered by a power divine,
And heavenly prompting felt.

When she was old, her heart not cold,
A youthful beauty lay,
A light most wondrous to behold!
Upon her tresses gray.

The charm of goodness does not fade,
Like natural beauty's flower,
But blooms in glory undecayed,
And death-defying power.

[The end]
James Avis Bartley's poem: Holy Lady

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