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II.

E'en such in its simplicity
Containing things for man too high,
The holy Prayer which Jesus taught!
A well too deep for mortal thought,
But where his want may ever turn,
And draw with ever welcome urn.
On childhood's dawn it doth unfold
Its treasures, and when life is old
Unfolding still yet all untold.
Ever transform'd to meet our needs,
Oft as Devotion counts her beads,

95

As if those beads had caught the light,
In her celestial girdle bright,
But each with its own colours dight.
Thus whensoe'er that Prayer is heard,
Fresh thoughts are in each solemn word;
An orb of light, come from the skies,
To kindle holy Liturgies;
It gathers and gives back their rays,
Now turn'd to prayer, and now to praise.
Thus is Thy word, unearthly wise,
A fire that lights each sacrifice;
'Tis that which, in Thine earthly shrine,
Clothes our desires with form divine,
To enter so more worthily
The place of Thy dread Majesty.
Upon that incense doth arise
An holy Angel to the skies,
And there, all cloth'd with other wings,
'Neath th'Intercessor's feet it springs.
Yea, could we see within that cloud
Of incense, from its earthly shroud
Its glorious fulness evermore
Unfolding to the heavenly door,
We there, reveal'd to mortal eye,
Should Angels, on glad ministry,
Ascending and descending see.