Ave Maria

Ave Maria! on a thousand thrones Raised by the weary hearts that beat to thee, As 'neath the softer light the throbbing sea, Thy name a spell of peace, in lingering tones Is whispered through the world: thy truth condones The feebler faith of worshippers that flee, Lost in the sovereign awe, to bend the knee By pictured holiness or breathing stones. Mother of Christ! whom ages old adorn, And hundred climes, by gentle thought and deed, Forgive the sacrilege, the brandished scorn Of the grim guardians of a narrow creed, Who fence their folds from Love's serener law, And "grate on scrannel pipes of wretched straw."--ED.

This sonnet was published in Time's Telescope, July 2, 1823, p. 136.--ED.