The Cathedral, or the Catholic and Apostolic Church in England ::

Methought I saw 'tween walls of deep decay,
Where thro' a mould'ring portal look'd the moon,
A solitary Vestal kneel and pray,
Within that aged temple all alone,
With adoration still and pensive grown;
Thus in a tottering world, to ruin borne,
The Church doth trim her lamp, and wait the morn.

Tho' worn with watching, and with sadness clad,
Yet, oft as break the joyous stars on high,
She with that Virgin-Mother's song is glad,
“Tho' poor am I, Thee will I magnify;
Tho' no sublunar joy, nor hope have I,
Nor pillow of repose, nor worldly choice,
Yet I in God my Saviour will rejoice.”

234

She has no voice; but in that Virgin's song
Divinely meditates her holier praise,
Till her aisl'd courts bear the deep notes along
To latest time; each evening stirs the blaze,
Filling her temple with the kindling rays,
And wakes the odorous store, till, far and nigh,
The house is fragrant with her piety.

Holiest of women! whom the Heav'nly King
Chose for Himself, in earthly shrine inurn'd;
Happiest of women! for in thee the spring
Of all our woes back to its fount was turn'd;
Most honor'd,—cloud wherein light's centre burn'd;—
But then dishonor'd most, when thou art seen
An idol, God and man to stand between.

Alas! man's heart, in sinful consciousness,
Some fond and frail illusion still will frame,
Which to the house of health may find access
Without repentance, or a sinner's shame:
There is One only all-prevailing Name,
But unto Him none but the pure can look,
None but the penitent His presence brook.

235

Blessed was she on whose retirement broke
That Angel form, the star portending morn;
And blessed she, upon whose bosom woke,
And slept, the Eternal Child, the Virgin-born,
Who like a robe the Heav'n of Heav'ns had worn;
But oh, more blessed, Lord, by Thy dear Name,
Is he who hears Thy word, and keeps the same.

For not in thee, thou maiden-mother mild,
As superstition deem'd, 'tis not in thee
That we rejoice, meek mother undefil'd,
But in our God alone both thou and we:
For thou wast compass'd with humanity,
And Christ alone thy light, thy strength, thy tower,
Thine innocence, thy victory, thy dower.

Nor at thy feet adore we, tho' so bright
Upon thy head the gleams of ages pour;
But with that Church rejoice, whose orient light
Shadow'd thee forth in women fam'd of yore,
With Hannah sung, and Miriam on the shore,
“The Lord Himself hath triumphed gloriously,
And thrown the horse and rider in the sea.”

236

For how can we in our own selves rejoice?
Our better hope it hath no certain stay,
Our will no stedfastness, and when our choice
Seems firmest set, pride shakes the tower of clay,
Too high for lowly-building charity;
Thou on Thy Church hast shower'd down Thy love,
And we are rich in her, and Thee above.

So in her gladness we to Heav'n draw near,
Renewing her primeval sympathies,
And for ourselves keep humble-thoughted fear;
It is the bridal of the earth and skies;
The Queen goes forth in gold embroideries,
The light around her presence flows, and we
Discern thereby our own deep poverty.

Beneath her feet a silver anchor lies,
She walks the clouds, and treads on human things,
With look conversing with the eternal skies,
And step—in act to spread her rising wings:
We seize her mantle, ere she heavenward springs,
And wait her voice,—from her no accent breaks,
Her voice is with her God, her silence speaks.

237

“On me Thy chosen treasures Thou hast pour'd,
Thy never-failing riches, long foretold
To Abraham's seed,—the riches of Thy word;
Countless as stars, many and manifold,
Glorious as they, and of Heav'n's purest gold;
Upon my head Thou settest Judah's crown,
Whose shadow lit the world, dimly foreknown.

“The princes of the world with all their state
Have ris'n to welcome me,—to Thee I flee.
The princes of the world with all their hate
Have ris'n to trample me,—I joy in Thee.
Nought need I fear but lest I should be free,
When wed to Thee,—of Thine Anointing named,—
And love the adult'rous world, of Thee ashamed.

“My children builded for me goodly piles,
And fill'd within with incense of sweet sound,
Spreading and rising to the starry Isles;
But now my riches they have all unbound,
And fain would tread my glories on the ground:
But I on Thee in my bereavement stay;—
Thou risest up, and they shall pass away.

238

“They clothe themselves with my magnificence,
But it will burn their flesh like sackcloth sore;
They, 'mid my heritage, which they dispense,
Shall ever hunger still, and ask for more.
I, in the nakedness of earthly store,
Thine everlasting goodness will put on,
And clothe me with Thy robe, as with the sun.

“While life is leading onward to the grave,
Some new desire will at each turn engage;
All pass, and leave us empty at death's cave;—
Pleasure, ambition, ease;—youth, manhood, age;—
Varying with life's advancing pilgrimage:
In Thine unchanging care I would repose,
Thine eye of watching, which doth never close.

“Nature shakes in the sun her ruffled plume,
Rising more beauteous from her wintry state,
And renovates afresh her faded bloom:
While her new forms are teeming at life's gate,
Mine no fresh spring doth at death's door await;
My mourning weeds with better hopes are clad,
And I in God my Saviour will be glad.

239

“Oh, take me 'neath the shelter of Thy wing,
And hide me,—of myself I am afraid,—
From myself hide me, from th'insidious spring
Of bold high thoughts, in ambush darkly laid
In the bad heart, as in a Stygian shade,
And leagued the spirit's peace to make their prey;
Till I the chains of life shall fling away.”

University of Virginia Library

THE SONG OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN,

[OR THE MAGNIFICAT.]