Tranquil she lies, awaiting the command
To arise and come. She hears, and bows her head:
One Fiat more, and Mary is with the dead;
But, sought the third day in her empty tomb,
On wings of angels borne, had upward fled,
Where flowers of Paradise undying bloom,
And glories passing thought her future home illume.
V.
John xvii. 22.
From tiny rills the mightiest rivers grow;