Page:Mercure de France tome 004 1892 page 206.jpg

As over incense-laden air
 Stole winter twilight, soft and dim,
The folk arose fom their last prayer —
 When hark! the children's hymn.

Round yon great pillar, circlewise,
 The singers stand up two and two —
Small lint-haired girls from whose young eyes
 The gay sea looks at you.

Now heavenward the pure music wins
 With cadence soft and silvery beat.
In flutes and subtle violins
 Are harmonies less sweet.

It is a chant with plaintive ring,
 And rhymes and refrains old and quaint.
"Oh Monseigneur saint Jacques",they sing,
 And "Oh Assisi's saint."

Through deepening dusk one just can see
 The little white-capped heads that move
In time to lines turned rhythmically
 And starred wite names of love.

Bred in no gentle silken ease,
 Trained to expect no splendid fate,
They are but peasant children these,
 Of very mean estate.

Nay, is that true ? To-night perhaps
 Unworldlier eyes had well discerned
Among those little gleaming caps
 An aureole that burned.

For once 'twas thought the Gates of Pearl
 Best opened to the poor that trod
The path of the meek peasant girl
 Who bore the Son of God.