Ah! who but she the glory knows
Of life, pure, high, intense;
Whose holy calm breeds awful shows,
Transfiguring the sense!
The life in voice she drinks like wine;
The Word an echo found;
Her ear the world, where Thought divine
Incarnate was in sound.
Her holy eyes, brimful of light,
Shine all unseen and low;
As if the radiant words all night
Forth at those orbs would go.
The opening door reveals a face
Of anxious household state:
"Car'st thou not, Master, for my case,
That I alone should wait?"
Heavy with light, she lifts those eyes
To Him who calmly heard;
Ready that moment to arise,
And go, before the word.
Her fear is banished by his voice,
Her fluttering hope set free:
"The needful thing is Mary's choice,
She shall remain with me."
Oh, joy to every doubting heart,
Doing the thing it would,
If He, the Holy, take its part,
And call its choice the good!
2.
Not now as then his words are poured
Into her lonely ears;
But many guests are at the board,
And many tongues she hears.
With sacred foot she cometh slow,
With daring, trembling tread;
With shadowing worship bendeth low
Above the godlike head.