"Blessèd"

Blessèd: so have they named her. With just pride,Deliberate care, and cautious circumstance,The Holy Council have beatifiedThe Maid of Orleans, martyred child of France,Who, at Domrèmy's village altar kneeling,—Ignored by friend and foe,Through all her young unsullied spirit feelingThe tears of a despairing people flow,—Implored relief; and following the wordWhich none save she had heard,Delivered France, and crowned her—long ago.Rejoice, Domrèmy, 'midst thy bowery green!She was thine own, whom all, at last, would claim—The greatest miracle that Earth hath seenSince out of Nazareth a Saviour came.Lowly as thou (though sheathed in armor bright),Her soul was as the snow—Yea, as the lilies of her banner, white.The Church hath blessed her; but man's heart, less slow,Remembering her service and the priceOf her dear sacrifice,Gave her the name of blessèd—long ago.