XXXII) Matri Ecclesiae
Though nevermore thy face I’ll see,
Kind mother, though no more to thee
Shall e’er return my wayward feet,
Yet still across the widening years
Thy well-known accents echo sweet,
As sweet they fall upon my ears
As sound of bells across a lake,
Or children’s voices in the choir;
And in my breast they ever wake
The echo of an old desire .
For though it would not, yet my heart
Confesses, Mother, who thou art.