O MARY, Virgin-mother of my Lord,
How throbbed thy heart with rapture and amaze
While thou didst ponder each successive word
Spoke of thy child in His sweet infant days!
The angel's salutation, ere thy womb
Conceived that "holy thing" by power divine,-
Whom long-expectant ages hoped to come,
The promised seed of David's royal line.
The shepherds told thee of the glorious sight
That filled their simple souls with glad amaze,
When heavenly hosts illumed the vaults of night,
And made them vocal with celestial praise. ‘
The Magi journeying from the East afar,
Offering their gifts-gold, myrrh, and incense sweet,
Told how, safe guided by His rising star,
Lowly they came to worship at His feet.
The rite imposed on Abram and his seed
He undergoes, though free from stain is He;
And even now for others deigns to bleed,
And early tastes vicarious agony.
Did thy soul shrink to hear His infant moan?
Already with His blood must bleed thy heart;
If thee "most blessed of women" all shall own,
For thy great blessing thou must learn to smart.
But let this cheer thee, though His blood must flow,
And thou lament to hear His plaintive moan,-
And this is but a foretaste of the woe
Of Calvary's cross and His expiring groan:
The First-begotten from the womb of death
The first-begotten of thy womb shall be;
And the loud cry of His expiring breath
Shall wake the praises of eternity.
Now He receives that glorious name of love,
That name nailed o'er Him on th' accursed tree,
JESUS, the name first given in heaven above,
By Gabriel told to Joseph and to thee.
Others to save, thy holy infant bleeds;
Others to save, He sinks in Jordan's wave;
Oh, love divine, that all our thoughts exceeds!
“Others to save, Himself He would not save.”
Now to the temple thou dost take thy Son,
With Him two turtle-doves, thine offering, bear;
Know'st thou, while gazing His sweet face upon,
Thou hast a greater than the temple there?
Before His face that temple, decked with gold,
Its priests and smoking altars, all shall flee;
Its rites, and forms, and feasts are waxen old:
They are the shadows,-but the substance He.
The Ark of God thou carriest in thy breast;
He is the spotless Lamb, the guileless Dove;
Thy babe is God's most high and royal Priest;
His body, temple of incarnate love:
The only blood that purgeth sin's dark stains,
And can for sin-thy sin and mine-atone,
Flows in thy infant's pure and sacred veins,
And must flow forth from His dear side alone.
Oh, well may aged Simeon rejoice
When in his arms he holds this holy Lamb,
Lift up in praise to God his thankful voice,
And his Lord's advent far and wide proclaim!
“Now let thy servant, Lord, depart in peace,
Thy great salvation with my eyes I see;
The light to bid the Gentile darkness cease,
And Israel's glory and Redeemer be.”
Oh, glorious mystery of mysteries!
Behold a virgin-mother of her Lord,-
Her Savior cradled in her bosom lies,
The woman's seed, the high Eternal WORD.
Prophets and kings His advent burned to see,
While Hell, affrighted, hears that infant's voice;
Bruiser of Satan's head that babe shall be:
Shiloh is come! Let earth with heaven rejoice!