Ah, happy who That sequestered secret knew, How sweeter than bee-haunted dells The blosmy blood of martyrs smells! Who did upon the scaffold’s bed, The ceremonial steel between you, wed With God’s grave proxy, high and reverend Death; Or felt about your neck, sweetly, (While the dull horde Saw but the unrelenting cord) The Bridegroom’s arm, and that long kiss That kissed away your breath, and claimed you His. You did, with thrift of holy gain, Unvenoming the sting of pain, Hive its sharp heather-honey. Ye Had sentience of the mystery To make Abaddon’s hooked wings Buoy you up to starry things; Pain of heart, and pain of sense, Pain the scourge, ye taught to cleanse; Pain the loss became possessing; Pain the curse was pain the blessing. Chains, rack, hunger, solitude,--these, Which did your soul from earth release, Left it free to rush upon And merge in its compulsive Sun. Desolated, bruised, forsaken, Nothing taking, all things taken, Lacerated and tormented, The stifled soul, in naught contented, On all hands straitened, cribbed, denied, Can but fetch breath o’ the Godward side. Oh, to me, give but to me That flower of felicity, Which on your topmost spirit ware The difficult and snowy air Of high refusal! and the heat Of central love which fed with sweet And holy fire i’ the frozen sod Roots that ta’en hold on God. Unwithering youth in you renewed Those rosy waters of your blood,-- The true _Fons Juventutis_; ye Pass with conquest that Red Sea, And stretch out your victorious hand Over the Fair and Holy Land. O by the Church’s pondering art Late set and named upon the chart Of her divine astronomy, Through your influence from on high Long shed unnoted! Bright New cluster in our Northern night, Cleanse from its pain and undelight An impotent and tarnished hymn, Whose marish exhalations dim Splendours they would transfuse! And thou Kindle the words which blot thee now, Over whose sacred corse unhearsed Europe veiled her face, and cursed The regal mantle grained in gore Of genius, freedom, faith, and More!