The Prophecy of Westminster, And other Poems In Honour of Henry Edward, Cardinal Manning. By Harriet Eleanor Hamilton King |
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The Comforter Comforted.
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 | The Prophecy of Westminster, And other Poems |  |
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The Comforter Comforted.
O thou whose throne was set in Westminster,
Among the many god-like names whereby
We hold thee in our hearts, this one doth lie
Nearest each thought of thee—the Comforter.
What bitter pains, what manifold disgrace
Hiding itself from every other face,
What broken hearts, what wounds of penitents,
What secret cruelties, what ghastly rents,
Open have lain beneath thy pitying eye,
Fled to thy bosom as to sanctuary,
And felt thy holy tenderness outpoured
Upon the quivering life, to hope restored!
Among the many god-like names whereby
We hold thee in our hearts, this one doth lie
Nearest each thought of thee—the Comforter.
What bitter pains, what manifold disgrace
Hiding itself from every other face,
What broken hearts, what wounds of penitents,
What secret cruelties, what ghastly rents,
Open have lain beneath thy pitying eye,
Fled to thy bosom as to sanctuary,
And felt thy holy tenderness outpoured
Upon the quivering life, to hope restored!
The benediction of thy sacred hand,
The heavenly music of thy voice most sweet,
O most belovèd lord in all this land,
Passed into those that sorrowed at thy feet.
Mourning they came, with empty hands alone,
When all the ground with withered leaves was strown,
And sobs of rain in gusts were gathering near,
With last winds wailing of the dying year.
And when they passed out from thee, lo! the Sun
In Aries stood, and all the woodland bowers
Were thick with buds that waited gentle showers,
And birds were busy in the year begun.
The heavenly music of thy voice most sweet,
O most belovèd lord in all this land,
Passed into those that sorrowed at thy feet.
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When all the ground with withered leaves was strown,
And sobs of rain in gusts were gathering near,
With last winds wailing of the dying year.
And when they passed out from thee, lo! the Sun
In Aries stood, and all the woodland bowers
Were thick with buds that waited gentle showers,
And birds were busy in the year begun.
O piercing eyes! O tender eyes! whose look
Flashed like a sword-thrust to the inmost core,
With healing even when they held rebuke—
O sovereign eyes, our eyes may meet no more!
Judge us, O Father! for thy rule austere
Is sweeter than a mother's and more mild;
And what against the world have we to fear,
If once thy silver voice have said, “My child”?
Alas, vain words, alas! One hovering foe
Betwixt us watched, and now his power we know.
Flashed like a sword-thrust to the inmost core,
With healing even when they held rebuke—
O sovereign eyes, our eyes may meet no more!
Judge us, O Father! for thy rule austere
Is sweeter than a mother's and more mild;
And what against the world have we to fear,
If once thy silver voice have said, “My child”?
Alas, vain words, alas! One hovering foe
Betwixt us watched, and now his power we know.
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O lonely by thine eminence apart,
More lonely by pre-eminence of heart!
Thou that didst seek and find one earthly breast
Whereon thine own, O Friend of God, might rest—
He, from thy dying hands, to us bereft,
A sacred legacy of love was left.
He was thy best; thou, to thyself severe,
Didst not this one last luxury refuse,
Unstinted in thy comfort only here,
The pearl most precious for thyself to choose.
More lonely by pre-eminence of heart!
Thou that didst seek and find one earthly breast
Whereon thine own, O Friend of God, might rest—
He, from thy dying hands, to us bereft,
A sacred legacy of love was left.
He was thy best; thou, to thyself severe,
Didst not this one last luxury refuse,
Unstinted in thy comfort only here,
The pearl most precious for thyself to choose.
We came to seek thy face at Westminster,
Loving thee—yes! God knows our love was true;
Yet (how else could it be?), self-seeking too;
But he came in to be thy minister.
We craved thy gifts,—what gifts had we to bring,
Save love and reverence, meet for offering?
What might of ours save winged prayers intrude
On thy heroic heights of solitude?
But when the door was shut he passed inside,
And stayed with thee, and talked at eventide;
And open lay to him as to God's sight,
(In whose eyes not even souls of Saints are white),
Thy weariness, thy loneliness, the load
Of all those souls to whom the pastures green
By thee were opened, and the waters flowed
Of comfort through thy travailing unseen;
And the pathetic patience of thy years,
That never made complaint to any ears
But his—all this, and more, of hallowed grief
Appealing turned to him, and found relief.
Loving thee—yes! God knows our love was true;
Yet (how else could it be?), self-seeking too;
But he came in to be thy minister.
We craved thy gifts,—what gifts had we to bring,
Save love and reverence, meet for offering?
What might of ours save winged prayers intrude
On thy heroic heights of solitude?
But when the door was shut he passed inside,
And stayed with thee, and talked at eventide;
And open lay to him as to God's sight,
(In whose eyes not even souls of Saints are white),
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Of all those souls to whom the pastures green
By thee were opened, and the waters flowed
Of comfort through thy travailing unseen;
And the pathetic patience of thy years,
That never made complaint to any ears
But his—all this, and more, of hallowed grief
Appealing turned to him, and found relief.
We too, thy children, needs must love the one
Who gave thee service more than any Son;
And we, thy comforted, pray soft and low,
God bless thy Comforter, who loved thee so!
Who gave thee service more than any Son;
And we, thy comforted, pray soft and low,
God bless thy Comforter, who loved thee so!
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