I see the listening rapture of her brows:
I hear her organ yearn, exult, and lift
Humanity to God! The heavens arouse,
And storms and seraphs o’er the white keys drift.
III.
ST. AGNES.
I was God’s maid, less woman than a child;
And yet they threw me in the common stews
Naked as I was born, for men to use.
The dear Lord saved his vessel, though reviled,
From outrage of a look: the Mother smiled—