With feet upon the changeful Moon, she stands,
And on her face a look divinely mild,
She holds secure with tender, human hands
The Everlasting Child.
O ancient Mother, ever Virgin, young
With youth renewed through all the ages, Sign
Of Hope, the age-long prayer of every tongue,
And Victory divine!
Hold Thou that Hope that bursts upon our night—
Babe by thee suckled, sustenant of thee,
Beacon enkindled from the Eternal Light,
For all the world to see!
Sing all ye angel conclave of the skies,
Who at Creation's birth did shout for joy,
And hailed the task begun!
Now let your songs of triumph higher rise,
And all your heavenliest melodies employ,
To praise Creation done!
And sing, ye creatures from the lowest deep,
Whose groans have risen: 'O Lord, O Lord, how long?'
Expectant of the dawn!
High festival with men and angels keep,
Upraise from Earth to Heaven the endless song,
And hail the Babe new-born!
XI.
The Vision of the Kings
A woman, with her baby at her breast, is depicted meditating, half to herself and half to her child, upon the Christmas story. The poem endeavors to trace the pathway of her thought.
The Vision of the Kings
I.