What meanness, but with happier fate This my hid choice, if not from heaven, Cleanse it, good Lord, from earthly leaven, THE QUEEN OF SEASONS (A Song for an inclement May) ALL is divine which the Highest has made, Through the days that He wrought, till the day when He stay❜d; Above and below, within and around, From the centre of space, to its uttermost bound. In beauty surpassing the Universe smiled, On the morn of its birth, like an innocent child. Or like the rich bloom of some delicate flower; And the Father rejoiced in the work of His power. Yet worlds brighter still, and a brighter than those, And a brighter again, He had made, had He chose; And you never could name that conceivable best, To exhaust the resources the Maker possess❜d. The freshness of May, and the sweetness of June, And the fire of July in its passionate noon, Munificent August, September serene, Are together no match for my glorious Queen. O Mary, all months and all days are thine own, In thee lasts their joyousness, And we give to thee May, not because it is best, But because it comes first, The Oratory, 1850. and is pledge of the rest. VALENTINE TO A LITTLE GIRL LITTLE maiden, dost thou pine Go and ask, my little child, Noble blood, and nobler still, For its owner freely pour'd Every drop there was to spill In the quarrel of his Lord. Valentine! I know the name, Many martyrs bear the same; And they stand in glittering ring Round their warrior God and King, Who before and for them bled, With their robes of ruby red, And their swords of cherub flame." Yes! there is a plenty there, - Knights without reproach or fear, — Such St. Denys, such St. George, In Jerusalem above, Whom to serve, and whom to love. The Oratory, 1850. THE GOOD SAMARITAN OH that thy creed were sound! 1 For thou dost soothe the heart, thou Church of Rome, By thy unwearied watch and varied round Of service, in thy Saviour's holy home. I cannot walk the city's sultry streets, But the wide porch invites to still retreats, Where passion's thirst is calm'd, and care's unthankful gloom. There, on a foreign shore, The home-sick solitary finds a friend: Thoughts, prison'd long for lack of speech, outpour Their tears; and doubts in resignation end. I almost fainted from the long delay That tangles me within this languid bay, When comes a foe, my wounds with oil and wine to tend. Palermo, June 13, 1833. 1 Of course this is the exclamation of one who, when so writing, was not in the Catholic Communion. WAITING FOR THE MORNING "Quoddam quasi pratum, in quo animae nihil patiebantur, sed manebant, nondum idoneae Visioni Beatae." - Bedae Hist. v. THEY are at rest: We may not stir the heaven of their repose Who in the mountain grots of Eden lie, They hear it sweep In distance down the dark and savage vale; They hear, and meekly muse, as fain to know flow. And soothing sounds Blend with the neighbouring waters as they glide; Angelic forms abide, Echoing, as words of watch, o'er lawn and grove, The verses of that hymn which Seraphs chant above. Oxford, 1835. WHENE'ER goes forth Thy dread command, And my last hour is nigh, Lord, grant me in a Christian land, As I was born, to die. |