John Myers O’Hara

IN meek seclusion where cathedrals vie,

It shuns the shining dome and spires of pride;

Content to nestle undiscerned beside

The street where wealth and fashion pass it by;

A refuge for the spirit’s inmost sigh,

With prayer’s consoling hush to none denied;

It keeps the faith for hearts that still confide,

Renunciation that no pomps belie.

And many pass its portal shrine nor stay

The hurried step, impatient of its peace;

But when the pageant vanishes with day

And all the lures of gain and glory cease,

One enters, sad as Dante, long ago,

The convent gate of Fra Hilario.