It seemed so far to lift my heart to thee,
I could but fear and tremble as I prayed;
Until thy grace made these sweet words disclose
The infinite act of love which thou hadst made.
Mother of God! Then Thou art one with us—
Our Brother, Lover, Saviour, all in one;
And the great distance ‘twixt our souls and thee
Was bridged by Mary’s words, “Thus be it done.”
Henceforth, when I would make my act of love,
When my full heart would lift itself to thee,
Should holy awe and fear weigh down my soul,
“Mother of God” upon my lips shall be.
[MEMOIRS OF A GOOD FRENCH PRIEST.]
It must not be always that men’s evil manners are writ in brass, their good deeds in water. The one grand, true, and pure wife of Henry VIII., with her strong sense of justice, commended the chronicler of the virtues of her once-potent but then fallen enemy. The history of conquerors, which most attracts the world’s admiring gaze, is but too often a record of crime; but, fiat justitia, with their crimes let their redeeming qualities, if any there be, stand forth, so that the good and the evil may flow down the stream of time in history, as they move in life, together.