The Christian year thoughts in verse for the Sundays and holidays throughout the year ... hundredth edition [by John Keble] |
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Churching of Women.
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 | The Christian year |  |
293
Churching of Women.
Is there, in bowers of endless spring,
One known from all the seraph band
By softer voice, by smile and wing
More exquisitely bland!
Here let him speed: to-day this hallow'd air
Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer.
One known from all the seraph band
By softer voice, by smile and wing
More exquisitely bland!
Here let him speed: to-day this hallow'd air
Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer.
Only let Heaven her fire impart,
No richer incense breathes on earth:
“A spouse with all a daughter's heart,”
Fresh from the perilous birth,
To the great Father lifts her pale glad eye,
Like a reviving flower when storms are hush'd on high.
No richer incense breathes on earth:
“A spouse with all a daughter's heart,”
Fresh from the perilous birth,
To the great Father lifts her pale glad eye,
Like a reviving flower when storms are hush'd on high.
O what a treasure of sweet thought
Is here! what hope and joy and love
All in one tender bosom brought,
For the all-gracious Dove
To brood o'er silently, and form for Heaven
Each passionate wish and dream to dear affection given.
Is here! what hope and joy and love
All in one tender bosom brought,
For the all-gracious Dove
To brood o'er silently, and form for Heaven
Each passionate wish and dream to dear affection given.
294
Her fluttering heart, too keenly blest,
Would sicken, but she leans on Thee,
Sees Thee by faith on Mary's breast,
And breathes serene and free.
Slight tremblings only of her veil declare
Soft answers duly whisper'd to each soothing prayer.
Would sicken, but she leans on Thee,
Sees Thee by faith on Mary's breast,
And breathes serene and free.
Slight tremblings only of her veil declare
Soft answers duly whisper'd to each soothing prayer.
We are too weak, when Thou dost bless,
To bear the joy—help, Virgin-born!
By Thine own mother's first caress,
That wak'd Thy natal morn!
Help, by the unexpressive smile, that made
A Heaven on earth around the couch where Thou wast laid.
To bear the joy—help, Virgin-born!
By Thine own mother's first caress,
That wak'd Thy natal morn!
Help, by the unexpressive smile, that made
A Heaven on earth around the couch where Thou wast laid.
| The Christian year | |