 | Sonnets, Lyrics and Translations |  |
57
TO THE HOLY VIRGIN.
Mother of Him who made us! first of mothers!Who heard'st the glorious angel bid thee “Hail!”
Mother of Him who call'd mankind His brothers,
Although His dying rent the Temple's veil,
And utter darkness told He was divine;
A few brief scriptures show us more of thee,
Than all these after-times of pageantry,
The marble statue, and the jewell'd shrine;
The passionate acclaim of many lands
Has drown'd thine own sweet voice, that ever spake
Of the Lord's handmaid; now they bid thee take
His place, and wrong thee with adoring hands;
But oh! we know thee best, when seen alone,
Far in the Past, with Jesus and with John!
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