Oh, Simeon is blest,
Christ in his arms is prest!
Mary’s sweet doves are slain,
She takes her Babe again:
And in her heart she knows
He will be slain as those:
And on her journey home
She feels God’s kingdom come.
Passing some intervening poems, we take from the same sequence these two members of a group of imagined incidents on the evening of the Crucifixion:
SUNDOWN ON CALVARY
Where art Thou, wandering Bird?
Thy sweet voice is not heard
On this wild day,
When the Father mourns the Son,
When the Son no Father hath,
And Thou hast but chaos for Thy path.
The Father keeps the Sepulchre,
The Son lies quiet there.
Where is thy place?
Where rest in a world undone?
Holy Ghost, a multitude
Guards the Cross; there hardly canst Thou brood.
To the dark waters haste,
Spread pinions on the waste;
There breathe, there play;
Forsake the Wood!
There is no resting-place for Thee
On this lovely, noble, blighted Tree.
. . . . .