Chapter III: The Loving Christ

The little hands returning wistfully
From birdlike wand'rings, ever come to rest,
On fostering hand on tender cheek or breast;
The upturned eyes, with loving certainty
Seek ever the grave face where broodingly,
The mother-soul by yearning love opprest,
With wings down-drooped, seems folded o'er the nest
Where lies the Hope of all humanity.
And she His World, and He her Calvary,--
He wraps her round with all the mystery
Of love predestined for earth's needy ones;
"Be comforted," it seems He fain would say,
"O mother mine, there dawns an Easter day,
And thou in me hast mothered many sons."

THE ANGEL OF THE JASMINE WREATH

(_From a picture by Botticelli, of the Madonna and Child with Angels,--in the Borghese Gallery_)

Ineffable angel, with the jasmine wreathed,
Wherefrom the sweetness over brow and lips,
And luminous white eyelids tremulously slips,
A visible essence from thy beauty breathed,--
The pure and pensive marvel of thy face is sheathed
In tresses softer than the bloom of night,
Wherefrom the dampness on thy forehead drips
With dews from out God's meadows infinite,--
Thy face, itself, a lily filled with light:--
Thyself the youngest of God's angels and most fair,
Bearing His latest breath and blessing on thine hair,
Thou comest fresh from looking on thy Lord;
And all is well, and all is filled for thee
With eloquent, mute wonder of His Word.
Oh, lean a little forth thy lips to me,
For I am fain of peace amid this earthly strife,
And I would drink, a spent soul, thirstily,
From out thy never-failing cup of life.

A PRAYER FOR THE FOLLOWERS OF IDEAL BEAUTY

(_With a pencil sketch of an Angel by Botticelli_)

Thou in whose All no work imperfect stands,
Thou who dost gaze on Beauty's unveiled face,
Grant to Thy children Thy sustaining grace,
When low at length have run the daylight sands,--
When, though their day was set to Thy commands,
They bow contritely in prayer's holy place,
Because through strivings beauty-wards they trace
The sad misshapings of their earthly hands:
Grant them at eve a soul devoutly still,
Grant them in dreams a vision of Thy light,
Grant them at morn a sorrow purged away
Into the peace of all-absolving night,
Star in the dawnlight of a fairer day,
Nearer the blossom of Thy perfect Will.