For earth's four thousand years of grief and

gloom

Ended by Him who lay within thy Virgin womb.

XIII.

Two forms are at her side,

Serene and thoughtful-eyed,

Abel and Enoch, Death's first victim this,

For whom that bitterest pain

First pierced the heart and brain

Of Parents mourning for Earth's dearest bliss ; The other, deathless, raised from Earth to

Heaven,

Type of the grave subdued, and sin through faith

forgiven.

XIV.

And haply some there be,

Erewhile endued like thee

With woman's holiest heart, who trod on earth The ways of Heavenly truth,

Meek Hannah, constant Ruth,

And that fair Persian Queen of Hebrew birth: Some haply who with thee on Earth were seen, Martha, and Mary, and repentant Magdalene.

XV.

And others whom even we

(If fondest Phantasy

May image that which love would fain believe)

Have walk'd with here below,

Now freed from all Earth's woe

Souls whom thou may'st with tenderest love receive.

Mothers, and wives, and maidens undefiled,

And infants who, even here, might on thy lap have

smiled.

XVI.

But wherefore thus prolong,

In vain, presumptuous song,

Poor shadowy fancies of a world unseen!

Why strive to picture thee,

As what thou now may'st be

Rather than that which thou indeed hast been,

A mortal dweller in this world of death,

A thing of flesh and blood instinct with human breath?

XVII.

As such men yielded thee

Their fond idolatry,

(For which thou weep'st, if souls in glory can) For thee impassion'd thought

Such fleshly beauty wrought,

As thrills the enamour'd soul of sensual man. So the meek mother, with her babe divine, Was hymn'd with many a vow at many an erring

XVIII.

Nor e'er with subtler wile

The old Tempter did beguile

[shrine.

His victim Man from worship pure and true,

Assembling whatsoe'er

Of holy bright and fair

Creation yieldeth to our human view,

When to thy name he bade us bend the knee, Fall down before thy shrine, and fondly worship

Thee.

XIX.

For in thy heart did meet

Such feelings pure and sweet

As never met in woman save in thee;
The maid's, the mother's heart,
Complete in every part,

Woman's meek faith and angel's purity;

So Heaven and Earth in thee commingled seem, Whate'er on Earth we love, whate'er of Heaven we

dream.

xx.

No wanton fancies wild

Thy maiden prime beguiled,

Nor hopes nor fears of Earth's tumultuous love; But Faith to visions high

Unseal'd thy mental eye,

And fix'd thy earnest heart on things above.
Meet wast thou, and most worthy to behold

That glorious angel's face, who thy great doom

foretold.

XXI.

Nor at thy nuptial hour,

Nor in thy bridal bower,

Might earthly passion and light dalliance be;

But o'er thy saintly soul

An awful rapture stole,

When Heaven's creative power o'ershadow'd

thee,

Impregnating thy chaste and virgin womb With Him who died to rise triumphant o'er the tomb.

XXII.

And when that hour was come,
Consign'd, by Eve's dread doom,

To bitterest anguish, with no mortal throes
Of travail dire, but free

From nature's agony,

Didst thou the treasure of thy womb disclose, And at the fountains of thy virgin breast

First feed Heaven's newborn heir, then cradle him

to rest.

XXIII.

Nor did thy bosom know

A mother's anxious woe,

Her painful pressure of continual care;

Her wakeful hopes and fears,

Her secret sighs and tears,

When o'er her child, of sin and death the heir, She watcheth with a heart of wild unrest, Lest sickness seize his frame, or sin corrupt his breast.

XXIV.

For he, the immortal, grew,

With tender heart and true,

In wisdom, as in stature, at thy feet;

His bosom free within

From speck or taint of sin,

Each act in outward rectitude complete;

And in thy lowly home, with reverence mild,

Did all thy gentle will, a grave and godly child.

XXV.

Communion calm and pure

Was that which did endure

Through childhood's years between his soul and

thine;

O'er many a treasured word

From his dear accents heard,

And breathing wisdom high and love divine, Brooded thy heart until the hour was come, When He for God's great work must leave his tran

quil home.

XXVI.

Never on earth till then

In all the haunts of men,

Did such a mother watch o'er such a child;

"Twas thine alone to see

From tenderest infancy

To perfect manhood, nature undefiled

By act or thought of sin, each day revealing New depths of guileless love, and pure and hea

venly feeling.

XXVII.

Say, swell'd thy heart with pride
When thou beheld'st him ride

In meekest glory, in the after years;
While, strewn o'er all his way,

Branches and garments lay,

And loud Hosannahs, pealing in his ears,

Hail'd him the promised king from David's stem

Coming in triumph to his own Jerusalem?