On A Picture Of S. Mary Bearing Doves To Sacrifice.
My eyes climb slowly up, as by a stair,
To seek a picture on my chamber wall—
A picture of the Mother of our Lord,
Hung where the latest twilight shadows fall.
My lifted eyes behold a childlike face,
Under a veil of woman's holiest thought,
O'ershadowed by the mystery of grace,
And mystery of mercy—God hath wrought.
Down through the dim old temple, moving slow,