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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XXXVII. THE THIRD DOLOUR.
(Filium quærens.)
Three days she seeks her Child in vain:
He who vouchsafed that holy woe
And makes the gates of glory pain
He, He alone its depth can know.
He who vouchsafed that holy woe
And makes the gates of glory pain
He, He alone its depth can know.
She wears the garment He must wear;
She tastes His chalice! From a Cross
Unseen she cries, ‘Where art Thou, where?
Why hast Thou me forsaken thus?’
She tastes His chalice! From a Cross
Unseen she cries, ‘Where art Thou, where?
Why hast Thou me forsaken thus?’
With feebler hand she touches first
That sharpest thorn in all His Crown,
Worse than the Nails, the Reed, the Thirst,
Seeming Desertion's icy frown!
That sharpest thorn in all His Crown,
Worse than the Nails, the Reed, the Thirst,
Seeming Desertion's icy frown!
O Saviour! we, the weak, the blind
We lose Thee, snared in Pleasure's bound:
Teach us once more Thy Face to find
Where only Thou art truly found,
We lose Thee, snared in Pleasure's bound:
Teach us once more Thy Face to find
Where only Thou art truly found,
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In Thy true Church, its Faith, its Love
Its anthemed Rites or Penance mute
And that Interior Life whereof
Eternal Life is flower and fruit.
Its anthemed Rites or Penance mute
And that Interior Life whereof
Eternal Life is flower and fruit.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |