XI.

Bud forth a Saviour, Earth! fulfil Thy first of functions, ever new! Balm-dropping heaven, for aye distil Thy grace like manna or like dew!

“To us, this day, a Child is born.’” Heaven knows not mere historic facts:— Celestial mysteries, night and morn, Live on in ever-present Acts.

Calvary's dread Victim in the skies On God's great altar rests even now: The Pentecostal glory lies For ever round the Church's brow.

From Son and Father, He, the Lord Of Love and Life, proceeds alway: Upon the first creative word Creation, trembling, hangs for aye.

Nor less ineffably renewed Than when on earth the tie began, Is that mysterious Motherhood Which re-creates the worlds and man.

Behold, she seemed on Earth to dwell; But, hid in light, alone she sat Beneath the Throne ineffable, Chanting her clear Magnificat.

Fed from the boundless heart of God, The joy within her rose more high And all her being overflowed, Until the awful hour was nigh.

Then, then, there crept her spirit o'er The shadow of that pain world-wide Whereof her Son the substance bore:— Him offering, half in Him she died;

Standing like that strange Moon, whereon The mask of Earth lies dim and dead, An orb of glory, shadow-strewn, Yet girdled with a luminous thread.