Domus Aurea.
XVIII.
She mused upon the Saints of old;
Their toils, their pains, she longed to share
Of Him she mused, the Child foretold;
To Him her hands she stretched in prayer.
No moment passed without its crown;
And each new grace was used so well
It drew some tenfold talent down,
Some miracle on miracle.
O golden House! O boundless store
Of wealth by heavenly commerce won!
When God Himself could give no more,
He gave thee all; He gave His Son!
Blessed the Mother of her Lord!
And yet for this more blessed still,
Because she heard and kept His Word—
High servant of His sovereign Will!
Respexit Humilitatem.
XIX
Not all thy purity, although
The whitest moon that ever lit
The peaks of Lebanonian snow
Shone dusk and dim compared with it;—
Not that great love of thine, whose beams
Transcended in their virtuous heat
Those suns which melt the ice-bound streams,
And make earth's pulses newly beat:—
It was not these that from the sky
Drew down to thee the Eternal Word:
He looked on thy humility;
He knew thee, "Handmaid of thy Lord."
Let no one claim with thee a part;
Let no one, Mary, name thy name,
While, aping God, upon his heart
Pride sits, a demon robed in flame.
Proud Vices, die! Where Sin has place
Be Sin's familiar self-disgust.
Proud Virtues, doubly die; that Grace
At last may burgeon from your dust.
Respexit Humilitatem.
XX.
Supreme among the things create
Omnipotence revealed below,
More swift than thought, more strong than fate,
Such, such, Humility, art thou!
All strength beside is weakness. Might
Belongs to God: and they alone,
Self-emptied souls and seeming-slight,
Are filled with God and share his throne.
O Mary! strong wert thou and meek;
Thy meekness gave thee strength divine:
Thyself in nothing didst thou seek;
Therefore thy Maker made Him thine.
Through Pride our parents disobeyed;
Rebellious Sense avenged the crime:
The soul, the body's captive made,
Became the branded thrall of time.
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With barrenness the earth was cursed;
Inviolate she brought forth no more
Her fruits, nor freely as at first:—
Thou cam'st, her Eden to restore!
Low breathes the wind upon the string;
The harp, responsive, sounds in turn:
Thus o'er thy Soul the Spirit's wing
Creative passed; and Christ was born.