XVIII.

She mused upon the Saints of old; Their toils, their pains, she longed to share Of Him she mused, the Child foretold; To Him her hands she stretched in prayer.

No moment passed without its crown; And each new grace was used so well It drew some tenfold talent down, Some miracle on miracle.

O golden House! O boundless store Of wealth by heavenly commerce won! When God Himself could give no more, He gave thee all; He gave His Son!

Blessed the Mother of her Lord! And yet for this more blessed still, Because she heard and kept His Word— High servant of His sovereign Will!