For not to careless wreathers of chance flowers SONNET XXXIV. My sister, we have lived long years apart, Pale now and changed, though in thy prime thou art, And in the chasten'd sweetness of thy mien And patient under pain's life-wasting smart. E'en as Bethesda's wondrous pool to thee, October, 1836. PROTESTANT HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. I. WITH no forbidden vow To thy blest name we bow, Holiest of women, nor, with suppliant knee, The votive gift prepare, Which yet, with reverend heart, we bring to Thee, As to the highly favour'd, from whose womb Into this groaning world did its Redeemer come. II. Not as enthroned on high Near Heaven's dread Majesty, Not as endued with Mediatorial power, With Christ to intercede For human hearts that bleed When sin assails, or care and grief devour; Not as the Queen of Heaven, by right divine, Do we bemock thy praise, or idolize thy shrine. II. We know not on what shore, Since life's brief toil was o'er, Thy soul hath sojourn'd; whether dreamless sleep, Diffused o'er brain and breast, Lulls sense and thought to rest, While angels their calm watch beside thee keep, F Till their great Captain's trump shall rend the tomb, Proclaiming the dread day of Nature's final doom. IV. Or whether, near the side Of Him, the Crucified, Thy Saviour and thy Son, already tasting Rich antepasts of Heaven, (Thy mortal sins forgiven For his dear sake) thou calmly view'st the wasting Of Time's dull ages, which must fade and flee Ere body, soul, and sense, in perfect bliss can be ; V. Or whether from on high Soothing their human cares, And o'er their darkest hours of earthly woe Breathing the balm of Heaven's eternal peace, And smoothing danger's waves, and causing fear to cease. VI. Such hosts as once of old Did mortal eye behold, Unseen till then, nor ever since display'd, When, in the illumined mount, In numbers passing count, Chariot on chariot, horse with horse array'd In fiery legions, with empyreal blaze At the great Prophet's prayer burst on his servant's gaze. VII. Such forms as oft seem nigh To Christian dreamer's eye At lonely twilight, or the tearful hour In converse sad but sweet, Of friends fast bound in 'Death's still grasping power; The loved, the long'd for, who, from their repose, Look down, they fondly deem, on all their joys and woes. VIII. No thought of man can guess In what obscure recess Of Heaven or Earth those blessed souls may be, Who, purged from fleshly stain, Are from the galling chain Of fleshly bondage, by the grave, set free: We know not of their haunts, but know that thou Art e'en as one of them, and with them mingled now. IX. Of all that saintly host With whom consort'st thou most? To whom (if disembodied spirits frame Intelligible speech Imparting each to each Thought for which we, the earthly, have no name) To whom, O Holiest, dost thou now disclose The pure and peaceful thoughts which gladden thy repose? X. Haply they all to thee Yield meet precedency, To thee, the saintliest of all saints confest, Whereon thou reign'st alone, The virgin queen of all the realm of rest, Dispensing smiles, like light, from side to side, On ranks of radiant saints, and martyrs glorified. XI. Yet one perchance there is, Joint heiress of thy bliss, And scarce less honour'd; before whom e'en thou With reverence due lay'st down Thine amaranthine crown, And veil'st the blaze of thy effulgent brow; She, our great Mother, Mary, ours and thine, And saved, like us and thee, by love and grace divine. XII. On her majestic face The blest still haply trace The lingering look of scarce forgotten sadness, E'en while, in rapture mild, On thee her favourite child She gazeth through bright smiles and tears of gladness, |