Mater Filii.
Behind this vast and wondrous frame
Of worlds whereof we nothing know
Except their aspects, and their name,—
Behind this blind, bewildering show
Of shapes that on the darkness trace
Transitions fair and fugitive,
Lies hid that power upon whose face
No child of man shall gaze and live.
As one that in broad sunshine stands
While minster organs near him roll,
Screening his forehead with his hands,
And following through the gulfs of soul
Some memory that before him flies—
Thus, power eternal and unknown,
We muse on thine immensities,
Yet find thee in thy Son alone.
Immanuel—God with us—in him
The lineaments divine are glassed
Like mountain outlines, vague and dim
Upon the mists of morning cast.
The "Word made Flesh!" O power divine!
Through him, through him, we guess at thee,
And deepliest feel that he is thine
When throned upon his mother's knee.
"If I but touch his vesture's hem,
I shall be healed, and strong, and free—"
Thou wert his vesture, Mary;—them
His virtue heals that cling to thee!
Aubrey De Vere.