Who born of Eve, high mercy won,
To bear and nurse the Eternal Son.
O awful station, to no Seraph given,
On this side touching Sin, and on th' other Heaven!
Therefore, as kneeling day by day, We to our Father duteous pray; So unforbidden we may speak, An Ave to Christ's Mother meek. (As children with "good-morrow" come, To Elders in some happy home,) Inviting so the Saintly Host above, With our unworthiness to pray in love.
To pray with us and gently bear, Our falterings in the pure bright air; But strive we pure and bright to be In spirit,-else how vain of thee, Our earnest dreamings, awful Bride! Feel we the sword that pierc'd thy side;
Thy spotless lily flower, so clear of hue,
Shrinks from the breath impure, the tongue untrue.
THE ANNUNCIATION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY.
O THOU who deign'st to sympathise With all our frail and fleshly ties, Maker, yet Brother dear, Forgive the too presumptuous thought, If, calming wayward grief, I sought To gaze on Thee too near.
Yet sure 'twas not presumption, Lord, 'Twas thine own comfortable word
That made the lesson known. Of all the dearest bonds we prove, Thou countest sons' and mothers' love Most sacred, most thine own.
When wandering here a little span, Thou took'st on Thee to rescue man, Thou hadst no earthly sire : That wedded love we prize so dear, As if our heaven and home were here; It lit in Thee no fire.
On no sweet sister's faithful breast Wouldst thou thine aching forehead rest, On no kind brother lean:
But who, O perfect filial heart, E'er did like Thee a true son's part, Endearing, firm, serene?
Thou wept'st, meek maiden, mother mild, Thou wept'st upon thy sinless child,
And yet, what mourning matron here Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear By all on this side Heaven?
A son that never did amiss,
That never sham'd his mother's kiss, Nor cross'd her fondest prayer: Even from the tree he deign'd to bow For her his agonised brow,
Her, his sole earthly care.
Ave Maria! blessed Maid! Lily of Eden's fragrant shade, Who can express the love That nurtur'd thee so pure and sweet, Making thy heart a shelter meet For Jesus' holy Dove?
Ave Maria! Mother blest, To whom, caressing and caress'd, Clings the Eternal Child; Favour'd beyond Archangels' dream When first on thee with tenderest gleam Thy new-born Saviour smil'd.
Ave Maria! Thou whose name All but adoring love may claim,
Yet may we reach thy shrine; For He, thy Son and Saviour, vows To crown all lowly lofty brows
With love and joy like thine.
Bless'd is the womb that bare Him-bless'd The bosom where his lips were press'd; But rather bless'd are they Who hear His word and keep it well, The living homes where Christ shall dwell And never pass away.
WHEN Evening's silent foot-fall steals Along the eastern sky,
And one by one to earth reveals
Those purer fires on high;
When one by one each human sound Dies on the awful ear,
Then Nature's voice no more is drowned, She speaks and we must hear.
Then pours she on the Christian heart, That warning, still and deep,
At which high spirits of old would start Even from their Pagan sleep:
Just guessing, through their murky blind, Few, faint, and baffling sight Streaks of a brighter heaven behind, A cloudless depth of light.
Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, Through many a dreary age, Upbore whate'er of good and wise Yet lived in bard or sage.
THERE stray'd awhile, amid the woods of Dart, One who could love them, but who durst not love. A vow had bound him, ne'er to give his heart To streamlet bright, or soft secluded grove. 'Twas a hard humbling task onwards to move His easy-captured eyes from each fair spot, With unattach'd and lonely step to rove
O'er happy meads, which soon its print forgot ;- Yet kept he safe his pledge, prizing his pilgrim lot.
WHENE'ER across this sinful flesh of mine I draw the Holy Sign,
All good thoughts stir within me, and renew Their slumbering strength divine;
Till there springs up a courage high and true To suffer and to do.
And who shall say, but hateful spirits around, For their brief hour unbound,
Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow? While on far heathen ground
Some lonely Saint hails the fresh odour, though Its source he cannot know.
THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD.
By J. H. NEWMAN.
LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene,--one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou Shouldst lead me on.
I loved to choose and see my path; but now Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.
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