The youthful bride, with timid steps, comes forth
To greet the hand to which she plights her troth,
Her soft eyes radiant with a strange delight.
The snowy veil which circles her around,
Shades the sweet face from every gazer’s eye,
And thus enwrapt, she passes calmly by—
Nor casts a look, but on the unconscious ground.
So should the Church, the bride elect of Heaven,—
Remembering whom she goeth forth to meet,
And with a truth that cannot brook deceit,