I love Him, for He first loved me.
He let me lean upon His holy breast,
He brought me first to view His empty grave;
He bade me learn that only love can save,
And call no fire from heaven but charity.
I work and wait, for He knows best.
That Rome which now oppresses us,
And all this rout of grey idolatry
Shall soon dissolve. For I can see the Light
Which guides the sun disperse the Asian night:
And straight above the reek of Ephesus
There burns the Love which died for me.
XXXIX
THE LITTLE CHILDREN
Along the ocean’s stormless side,
Below the never setting sun,
Where Innocent is every one,
Meet all Christ’s babes that ever died.
Some home around their Monarch’s seat,
Like doves that flutter to their rest;
Within His arms they find their nest
And wonder at His wounded feet.
Some make a goal of Mary’s knee,
To which they run in joyous race;
Then tell her that their mother’s face
On earth was just like hers to see.
Some call the angels to their play
Mid flowers of one unfading spring;
In radiant wheels they move and sing,
And learn the angels’ roundelay.
But some, I think, amid those bands,
Remembering our ruder lore
And love, towards this colder shore
Lift speed-well eyes and rose-leaf hands.
XL
THE CIRCUMCISION
More bright than rosebuds on the rounded base
Of some veined alabaster urn,
Wherein a lamp was set to burn
And throw false smiles on Aphrodite’s face.