Help me, from my passion, to recall
Thy sheer loss,
And adore the sovereign nakedness
Of Thy Cross!
FREGIT
ON the night of dedication
Of Thyself as our oblation,
Christ, Belovèd, Thou didst take
In Thy very hands and break....
O my God, there is the hiss of doom
When new-glowing flowers are snapt in bloom;
When shivered, as a little thunder-cloud,
A vase splits on the floor its brilliance loud;
Or lightning strikes a willow-tree with gash
Cloven for death in a resounded crash;
And I have heard that one who could betray
His country and yet face the breadth of day,
Bowed himself, weeping, but to hear his sword
Broken before him, as his sin’s award.
These were broken; Thou didst break....
Thou the Flower that Heaven did make
Of our race the crown of light;
Thou the Vase of Chrysolite
Into which God’s balm doth flow;
Thou the Willow hung with woe
Of our exile harps; Thou Sword
Of the Everlasting Word—
Thou, betrayed, Thyself didst break
Thy own Body for our sake:
Thy own Body Thou didst take
In Thy holy hands—and break.
SICUT PARVULI
WITH me, laid upon my tongue,
As upon Thy Mother’s knee
Thou wert laid at Thy Nativity;
And she felt Thee lie her wraps among.
Tenderest pressure, dint of grace,
All she dreamed and loved in God,
As a shoot from an old Patriarch’s rod,
Laid upon her, felt by her embrace.
O my God, to have Thee, feel Thee mine,
In Thy helpless Presence! Love,
Not to dream of Thee in power above,
But receive Thee, Little One divine!
As the burthen of a seal
May give kingdoms with its touch,
Lo, Thy meek preponderance is such,
I am straight ennobled as I kneel.