O  what  a  treasure  of  sweet  thought

Is  here  !  what  hope  and  joy  and  love
All  in  one  tender  bosom  brought,
For  the  all-gracious  Dove
To  brood  o'er  silently,  and  form  for  Heaven
Each  passionate  wish  and  dream  to  dear  affection  given.
COMMINATION  199

Her  fluttering  heart,  too  keenly  blest.
Would  sicken,  but  she  leans  on  Thee,  20

Sees  Thee  by  faith  on  Mary's  breast.
And  breathes  serene  and  free.
Slight  tremblings  only  of  her  veil  declare  1
Soft  answers  duly  whisper'd  to  each  soothing  prayer.
We  are  too  weak,  when  Thou  dost  bless.
To  bear  the  joy — help.  Virgin-born  !
By  Thine  own  mother's  first  caress.
That  wak'd  Thy  natal  morn  !
Help,  by  the  unexpressive  smile,  that  made
A  Heaven  on  earth  around  the  couch  where  Thou
wast  laid  !  30


COMMINATION

The  prayers  are  o'er :    why  slumberest  thou  so
long.
Thou  voice  of  sacred  song  ?
Why  swell'st  thou  not,  Hke  breeze  from  mountain
cave.
High  o'er  the  echoing  nave.
The  white-rob'd  priest,  as  otherwhile,  to  guide.
Up  to  the  Altar's  northern  side  ?—
A  mourner's  tale  of  shame  and  sad  decay
Keeps  back  our  glorious  sacrifice  to-day  :

The  widow'd  Spouse  of  Christ :  with  ashes  crown' d.
Her  Christmas  robes  unbound,  10

She  lingers  in  the  porch  for  grief  and  fear.
Keeping  her  penance  drear. —
O  is  it  naught  to  you  ?  that  idly  gay.
Or  coldly  proud,  ye  turn  away  ?
But  if  her  warning  tears  in  vain  be  spent,
Lo,  to  her  alter'd  eye  the  Law's  stern  fires  are  lent.
