Not e'en an adversary's art thy lineaments could hide, And, though disfigured by a foe, thy beauty I descried. For thy deep love my spirit yearned, but trembled at thy creed, And longing still to pluck the flower, refused to sow the seed. "Oh! that thy creed were sound," I cried, until I felt its power, And almost prayed to find it false in the decisive hour. Great was the struggle, fierce the strife, but wonderful the gain, And not one trial or one pang was sent or felt in vain, And every link of that long chain that led my soul to thee, Remains a monument of all thy mercy wrought for me. MARY KEPT ALL THESE WORDS. Mary kept all these words, pondering them in her heart." MOTHER of Him, who neither strove nor cried, Whence hymns of praise and adoration rose, No brighter aspect than these emblems wore. The hopes that stir, the terrors that appal But from the earth we tread to raise our eyes THE SACRIFICE OF THE MASS. BY LADY G. FULLERTON. As erst on Israel's sacred ark The Token Cloud remained, That nightly turned to fire, the sign The midnight hour-the noonday skies, As God of old in mercy veiled As erst St. Thomas stretched his hands And in their deep reality A risen God confest : So bows my soul each solemn hour A hidden God upon his throne No human eye could gaze and live, That earthly sense and vision spreads, That hand upon my eyes, O Lord, As long as Time's swift footsteps fall THE ELEVATION OF THE HOST. By LADY G. FULLERTON. IN breathless silence kneel, The hour of grace is nigh; Stir not the silent air, Breathe not too loud a sigh. In your heart's deep recess, Mute be the organ's strain, This is no earthly hour; God is among you now, On the lone mountain's brow. A VOICE FROM THE ALTAR. BY LADY G. FULLERTON. Now from the altar breathing, sweet as a welcome home, O'er the hushed spirit stealing, divinest accents come: A hope and a desire, a yearning and a rest, A still consuming fire, that burns within the breast. What is that voice resounding, when all is still around? What is that joy entrancing the soul in rapture bound? Is it an angel acting a faithful guardian's part; Or God himself revealing the secrets of His Heart? Oh! stay and hear Him utter what those deep throbbings tell Of all He chose to suffer, because He loved too well; The anguish of the Passion, the story of the Cross, The might of His affection, which could not brook our loss. Oh! let those wordless pleadings, those silent lessons move Our hearts with their great teachings of more than human love! Like victims prompt and willing at His dear feet to lie ; For His dear sake consenting to live, suffer, and die! |