Mystic Trees :: :: University of Virginia Library

CEDAR

THE BLESSED TRINITY

I adore Thee of no word exprest—
Thou hast taught me to adore Thee as the bird is taught to build her nest.
I adore Thee, O my Wood of perfumed leaves,
As the darkness comprehending that believes!

I adore the Vision I behold,
As a region stored with mountains issues sovereign with its crowns of gold;
Multitudinous it stands, remaining one,
In its crested frontier, clear to look upon.

Father, Son, Sweet Breathing of the Twain,
Overhead a deep concerting and a plot that is at last made plain—
God must die for us: with message of such Love,
God the Father from His Bosom frees a Dove.

NONDUM ERANT ABYSSI, ET EGO JAM CONCEPTA ERAM

I

We hear the Trinity
Singing low of Thee,
Singing behind the screen
Of the dark world and green.

II

The Godhead singeth low
“Man sinneth thus—
How hath he wrought me woe!”
God curseth us.

III

What chafe is in the tune,
What treble fluteth there?
A name we catch ... the boon
Of Mary in the air.

IV

No creature that is born
But now is born accurst:
Mary not thus, is born;
She is redeemèd first.

V

Tasting of Calvary,
Even as she is conceived,
Her very blood shall be
Of Christ's redeeming weaved.

VI

Now may God turn to make
The sun, to make the moon,
And the young stars to shake
On Eve, in her young swoon.

VII

Such harmony is wrought
The abyss now straight appears;
God is again in thought;
Great paths are for the spheres.

And round each axle-tree,
The music of the Trinity.

THE STILLNESS IN PARADISE

“I, if I be lifted up,
Will draw all men unto me!”
Mary did not thus agree—
Mary opened a flower-cup.

Mary doth herself uplift—
And God looketh on His rose.
As the lovely leaves unclose,
Lo, God giveth unto sinners shrift.

SHE IS ONE

High, lone above all creatures thou dost stand,
Mary, as apple on the topmost bough,
The gatherers overlooked, somehow—
And yet not so:
Man could not reach thee, thou so high dost grow
Warm, gold for God's own Hand.

THE PRESENTATION OF OUR BLESSED LADY

I

Who is this?
Oh, behold the little thing!
Oh, behold the angels clustering
In a circle of supremest wing,
Following her steps, who is so small,
She against the Temple-stones may fall!

Mary's self it is:
To the Temple-Courts she draweth nigh,
Offering
Her three years beneath the sky
To her King;
With the years that by and by
The years will bring;
And the deep Eternity beside,
Ere the hills were cloven wide,
When with God she did abide—
With her now for her remembering,
With her as a lovely guide.

II

Fair art thou in thy youth,
Deriving from God's truth;
Thou liv'st in meekness, very still,
And fillest as a river with God's Will.

Lovely thy feet that climb,
In musical, swift rhyme,
The steps up to the Temple, where all day
Thy portion is to serve:
None tempteth thee to swerve,
Nor sigh at other children in their play.

When Joseph asks troth-plight,
Fair is he in thy sight,
O Virgin, yet thou feelest the control
Of something that doth keep
Thee closed as in a sleep;
As one asleep thou smilest on his soul:

Or, as the sun that peers
Forth from a cloud, yet steers
No way to cast a radiance on the plain.
Joseph receives thee so,
And mourns, and bows him to his woe,
And mourns that thou shouldst love him back again.

A JUST MAN

The Angel Gabriel
Hath left her, and she doth not think of him—
Joseph comes in from reading of the Law;
She sits, her eyes a-swim:
Then riseth from her seat, and kisseth him.

ANNUNCIATION SILENCE

Lo, the wind that blows as it doth list:
Lo, the flame that thriddeth the abyss!
Mary now hath bound her will:
In the house she keepeth still:
And she meeteth Joseph's kiss.

Very lovely as a moon in mist
She appeareth in her place.
Something in her heart doth lack,
For she doth not kiss him back—
Weeps a little in his face.

Now from lover's hope he doth desist;
For she groweth to him terrible
As an army clad in banners,
With those pitiful, lone manners:
And he guards a dream he may not tell.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

But so deep the wild-bee hummeth,
And so still the glow-worm glows,
That we know a Saviour cometh,
And we lay our hearts with those—
All the mysteries earth strives with through the June nights and the rose.

Strange the joy that sets us weeping—
Holy John, thy Feast is come!
Yea, we feel a Babe is leaping
In the womb where he is dumb
To the song that God's own Mother sings so loud to Christendom.

High that singing, high and humble!
Lo, our Queen is taking rule:
Faint midsummer thunders rumble,
And gold lilies light the pool,
While the generations whisper that a Queen is taking rule.

PRAISES

O mary, Wisdom of the early lands,
O Mary, joy of the Creative Hands!—
Behold where on the serpent's head she stands!

Child to the Heavenly Father by submission,
Spouse to the Holy Spirit in fruition,
Mother to all who seek Christ of contrition.

O Mary, lovely Bush of lightsome flame,
To whom in veneration Joseph came,
And found thee tingling with the Hidden Name!

CALLED EARLY

It is a morning very bright:
Through all the stars of the long starry night
Mary hath not been sleeping: for delight
She hath kept watch through the starry night.

Joseph comes to her quietly:
“A journey I must take with thee,
Mary, my wife, from Galilee.”
He saw that she had wept,
And all her secret kept.

UNDER THE STAR

Mary is weary and heavy-laden,
As a travailing woman may be.
She calleth to Joseph wearily,
“At the Inn there is no room for me;
Oh, seek me a little room!”

Joseph returns. “In a cattle-shed
Hard by, I will make for thee thy bed—
Dost thou fear to go?
O Mary, look, that star overhead!”
And Mary smiled—“Where the cattle low
My Son shall be loosed from the womb.”

THE SHEPHERD SILENCE

I

Lambs are round the Crib; the sound
Is of lambkins bleating round—
One the Babe doth pull,
Tangling fingers in his wool;
While the shepherds crook the knee,
Gazing full of awe on me.

II

Something they would have me told,
While I watch the little fold.
Lambs are bleating; it is sweet
How for mother's milk they bleat.
Jesus, can we let them go
Hungry from the stable so?

III

Bleating, bleating! Thou dost mark
How they pass back through the dark;
Thou dost count them, one by one,
Through the door till they are gone;
Very solemn Thou dost keep;
And we ponder on the sheep.

CANDLEMAS

I

IF there be indeed a day
We from name to name may pass,
It must be to-day at Candlemas:
Thus the lovely twain we pray,
Jesu-Maria!

II

Mary, as she doth appear
On the roadside, come to rest,
With her Baby playing at her breast;
And the Temple sheweth clear:

III

With a basket meet for doves
Lying empty at her feet.
Simeon is passing down the street,
And she hugs the thing she loves.

IV

Warm the little creature laid
Close to her, and warm its fold;
Now between them lieth something cold—
At her bosom a sword's blade.

Mary, sorrowful, most dear,
Sooner than from Him to part,
We, like thee, will lay up to our heart
All His passion, nails and spear.

IN ARMS

Those mysteries I count the best
Where the young Child is found
Laid in thy lovely arms to rest,
Or held of thee and crowned.

And first of the Nativity
I love the joyous guise;
And all the music sung to thee
Is of thy Infant's cries.

The Aves tremble on our lips,
The Aves are unsaid;
For, see, the gentle mother slips
Her Jesus in His bed.

And we with her must bend to Him,
And on our knees must sink—
That bed of His the Angels rim
As swallows come to drink.

Thy little One is still in arms
When Simeon stands by,
And saddeneth thee with cruel charms,
And blesseth tearfully.

The Lamb is to the slaughter come—
How softly He consents!
Now must thou home with Him, and hum,
And ponder God's intents.

PONDERING

“I see a Garden, my little son,
Thou art praying there God's will be done:
The ground is wet
With bloody sweat ...
Yea, and fulfilled His Will shall be
In Thee and me!

Thou art bound, art bleeding in a hall ...
There is wrath at my breast ... The scourges fall;
And the swimming eyes of Thine agony
Have no part in me.
Lo, Thine hour is come!
My Bud, my Rose, I am distant, dumb!

Belovèd, I can see a road;
They spur Thee along it as with a goad;
I hear Thy Voice ‘Ye must not weep’ ...
Babe, Babe, but my sobs will break Thy sleep!

To a Cross Thou art nailed by cruel men—
But I see myself and beside Thee then,
At the foot of that Cross—and it is His Will!
My little One, we will both lie still,
In one peace together, loving His Will!”

THE HOLY INNOCENTS

I

Our King is a lovely child!
Mary is feeding the ass;
The caravans pass—
Mary is feeding the ass:
And no little playmates stand
To comfort the King in the desert land.

II

But, see! Where the fair child shrinks
Under shadow of a sphinx,
And sayeth no words—
With a whirr as of travelling birds,
Round him settles burning, glad,
Shouting tongue of Bethlehem, many an angel-lad.

III

Martyrs these of Bethlehem;
God's reward hath come to them.
Fallen on sleep from bloody fray,
As the martyr Stephen, they
Woke in presence of their Father's face:
And the Father bade them come and play
With His Jesus in this lonely place.

IV

Come then, in a blood-red ring,
Rose—oh, rose—blood-red of wing,
And in infant chorus sing
How his lovely martyrdom
One day too will come!

RETURN

“Ex fructibus eorum cognoscetis eos.”

I

They were very peaceful folk,
Who in marriage-bond did yoke:
On the mountain, Joachim
Prayed, and Anna, loving him,
For him in the garden prayed:
Very gentle wife she made,
And, amid her humble cares,
All his will she welcomed hers.

II

There was peace between them such
That they felt each other's touch
Long time after in their heart,
If they needs must be apart.
When their child was born they saw
Of herself she kept God's law,
And they held her subject so
As a flower one shields to blow.

III

Joseph is so meek a man,
Joachim and Anna plan

Strict espousals with their maid.
Mary, as a child, obeyed:
But one smile she gave her mother,
Who now leads her to another.

IV

Then a sorrow fell on them;
Mary must to Bethlehem
With her husband to be taxed.
Only Joachim would stay
Longer on the mount away;
Anna plied her distaff close,
As she made no prayer for those.

V

Travellers one day did pass:
At the gate there was an ass;
And their lowly One, as sweet
As an angel, comes to greet;
Greets her father and her mother,
Lays in Anna's arms another—
When the Baby hath enticed,
Whispers her, “He is the Christ.”

THE SILENCE OF NAZARETH

How is it that I sought Him? For He speaks
So little to me through the weeks and weeks:
Then waiteth—and whatever I shall say
That He will straight obey.

The neighbours say to me how He is fair,
It is as music wandered through His hair;
It is ... and yet no beauty one should love:
He mourneth as a Dove.

He will fare forth. His story He must tell.
While underfoot I feel the Dragon swell,
I rise as Deborah, though I am dumb,
And bid His Kingdom come.

OUR LADY'S PRAYER

“They have no wine!” Sweet Lady, dost thou care
The bridegroom groweth pale,
The marriage-feast doth fail?
“They have no wine!” Sweet Lady, thou dost care;
Thou giv'st this sorrow for thy Son to share—
“They have no wine!”

Christ fills for thee the water-pots with wine!
The bridegroom's face doth flush,
The guests are all a-rush ...
We have no wine! More deeply must thou plead!
And from a spear-point to man's utter need
It will be won,
Mother, the day that John is made thy son!

FEAST OF THE HOLY NAME OF MARY

I

Mary, we would speak thy name,
Mary, we would cry thy fame—
And, in thy nativity,
Sweetest praise we give to thee
For thy gift of Calvary.

II

Thine the meekness with the Word
That Eternal Life conferred:
Of thy patience by His cradle
It avails that He is able
In our soilèd hearts to stable.

III

Of the martyrs, earliest Rose,
Dear thy merit among those.
Standing by His altar red,
When upon the Cross He bled,
Thine the Blood the Saviour shed.

IV

Mary, thou art well-content
Thus to give in element
Of thy blood and body pure
Very substance of a sure
Record and entablature.

V

Mary, we commemorate
In the Cross thy sovereign state;
Standing by the sacred Wood,
Yielding up thy Motherhood—
God beholdeth it is good.

STABAT MATER

A great, nailed tree of Japonica,
Red with the burnish that comes of blood—
Very rich in flowering, spreading wide:
And one beside that blows
Tender bouquets of apple-bloom rose
From the centre, or here and there ...
Our Lady! For I must think of her,
How thus she stood,
Angel-soft, as she wound about,
In and out
Pale, 'mid the blood-red Wood.

LIGHT OF THE EYES

Blessèd are thine eyes—they see,
Handmaid of the Trinity,
Christ eternal in His rest,
Laid a Babe upon thy breast.

Something in our sight doth lack!
Thou dost see along the track.
Bless, of thy fair Power, our sense
To receive the Truth immense!

Blessèd are thine eyes—they hold,
In unwavering mirror bold,
Daily, till three hours be done,
All the Passion of thy Son.

Mother, if thou couldst but win
That with thee we look on sin!
Teach us from the mystery
Of thy patience, charity.

Blessèd eyes that watch Him die,
Watching those that crucify;
Weeping that they do not know
How they murder, handling so.

Teach us in thy lovely ways
On the Trinity to gaze!
From thy Vision may we prove
All the wanderings of the Dove!

“BUT MARY SAT STILL IN THE HOUSE”

To the sepulchre they go—
Maries, sighing in their woe—
Sacred spices to bestow
On Him who lieth low,
From corruption to preserve Him so.

But the Mother lieth on her bed;
For she would not go with them, she said:
And she lieth on her bed,
Dreaming as a mother of her dead.
Mary now is stirring in the room!
Presently they come back from the tomb
Swift with message of an empty tomb.

Then they pause: her Lily is in bloom.

OUR MOTHER

It was the Day of Pentecost!
On Mary shone the Holy Ghost.

For they had raised her to a throne:
They loved her as their very own—

All of His flock, not only John,
Each of the Twelve she looked upon.

She was not clad in Ophir's gold;
She was most lovely to behold.

To her who still God's will had done
Beseemed the habit of a nun;

And of her meekness she was clad
In a long, snowy robe she had.

They were all of one accord
Offering the Body of the Lord.

And there was upon her knee
A little book of prophecy.

The shadow of a Dove astir,
And a great light spread over her.

That shadow on the open book
Was of our Lady not mistook.

She answered; for it was the call
She should be mother to us all.

And while a sudden tempest tossed
And shook the air, her breast she crossed.

And while they spake in tongues of flame,
She bowed herself, she breathed His name.

And, of that Holy Power, began
At once to intercede for Man.

And as in days of Nazareth,
A lovely Rosary she saith
Of His obedience unto Death.

So humble that her prayers avail,
Though the temptations that assail
Be unto death. Sweet Mary, hail!

THE DORMITIO

I

Lonely art thou in thy sleeping!
Mary, thou must know Death's rest;
Thy apostles lay thee, weeping,
In a little tomb to rest,
At the foot of Olivet:
There they leave thee fast asleep;
And thy grave no watchers keep.

II

Night on earth hath never fallen
As it falls on this night-fall.
For so deep a peace is fallen
Dove to dove doth make no call:
And the dew lies as a fleece
Covering sweet Mary's peace.

THE ASSUMPTION OF OUR BLESSED LADY

Thee thine Apostle-Son entombs:
Earth busies with her shoots,
And violet-roots;
The monument she climbeth over
With berberis and clover—
Lovely thou liest in thy grotto-glooms;
Till an Annunciation comes to thee.
Thou knowest not how this may be ...
Glorious as on spread eagle-plumes
Thou risest to the Trinity.

THE MYSTERY OF THE ASSUMPTION

Lovely Mystery—
That our Lady stealeth from her tomb,
And doth serenely Heaven assume!
This most secret thou dost sow,
Wide as field-hills of anemone,
In the people's hearts to grow.

Nothing to the Church is told:
From the children at her knee
She receives the lovely mystery—
“Yes, our Mother kneeling down,
Jesus standing with a crown of gold,
Jesus laying on her head a crown.”

As the secret of the Cleansing Fire
Was among men, and no need to tell
Of the glorious hope in parable:
Thou hast told the people of Thy throne,
Of Thy soothing for them of God's ire—
In a whisper—thou and they alone.

EXITE, SION FILIAE

“Exite, Sion Filiae,
Regis puellae Virgines,
Christi coronam cernite,
Quam Mater ipsa texuit.”

One (weeping)
“It was woven of them, the diadem;
It was given Him of those—
The hands of the buffets and the blows
Pressed it down through His soft, bright hair:
It was given him of those.”

The Church
“Oh come, who strikest sobs among the band,
Twisting the thorns! Behold,
How of the Church the Antiphon is told!
Come to the quiet land
Of ordered angels, that handmaiden stand
Around a Woman queenly in her state,
Of gaiety elate,
Of laughter low and musical,
Who of green brambles weaves a coronal,
Tipping the thorns with sapphires mystical;
While on her weaving she doth wait,
And to her maids relate how this is done
For her most lovely Son, who now must part
From her to His espousals, glad of heart.

O daughters, gather round
To see the Bridegroom crowned!

But first step close, and, for a little space,
Gaze back into that face
Where many wonders are.

Her cheeks:—it is as these
Were flapped by banners striking from a breeze,
Or as the sparkle from inflaming trees.
Yet is it not all bright
Athwart this visage light;
A tribulation round the glory hangs.
Sorrow is there in other pomp, and pangs
Rise up pellucid as the morning-star
From the confusion of the day and night.

He is set up high on a throne, is stoled,
Even as a priest for offering;
Yet in His sceptre is He King.
Behold, what counsel He doth hold
With One beside Him on His throne,
When he confers with Majesty alone!
As at a step He lifts His brow,
A Dove with sunshine-wings
Spreads over Him and sings.
O Mother of great splendours, it is thou
That layest on that brow,
In light that doth appal,
The dazzling coronal
Of Sapphires mystical ...
It is not those!