Whatever teaches mind or heart To God by loveliest types to mount, Mary, is thine. Of each true Art The parent art thou, and the fount. {56} Those pictures, fair as moon or star, The ages dear to Faith brought forth, Formed but the illumined calendar Of her, that Church which knows thy worth. Not less doth Nature teach through thee That mystery hid in hues and lines: Who loves thee not hath lost the key To all her sanctuaries and shrines. {57} _Stella Matutina._ XIII. Shine out, O Star, and sing the praise Of that unrisen Sun whose glow Thus feeds thee with thine earlier rays-- The secret of thy song we know. Thou sing'st that Sun of Righteousness, Sole light of this benighted globe, Whose beams, reflected, dressed and dress His Mother in her shining robe. Pale Lily, pearled around with dew, Lift high that heaven-illumined vase, And sing the glories ever new Of her, God's chalice, "full of grace." Cerulean Ocean, fringed with white, That wear'st her colours evermore, In all thy pureness, all thy might, Resound her name from shore to shore. That fringe of foam, when drops the sun To-night, a sanguine stain shall wear:-- Thus Mary's heart had strength, alone, The passion of her Lord to share. {58} _Janua Coeli._ XIV. The night through yonder cloudy cleft, With many a lingering last regard, Withdraws--but slowly--and hath left Her mantle on the dewy sward. The lawns with silver dews are strewn; The winds lie hushed in cave and tree; Nor stirs a flower, save one alone That bends beneath the earliest bee. Peace over all the garden broods; Pathetic sweets the thickets throng; Like breath the vapour o'er the woods Ascends--dim woods without a song: Or hangs, a shining, fleece-like mass O'er half yon lake that winds afar Among the forests, still as glass, The mirror of that Morning Star {59} Which, halfway wandering from the sky, Amid the rose of morn delays And (large and less alternately) Bends down a lustrous, tearful gaze. Mother and home of spirits blest! Bright gate of Heaven and golden bower! Thy best of blessings, love and rest, Depart not till on earth thou shower! {60} XV. If sense of Man's unworthiness With Nature's blameless looks at strife, Should wake with wakening May, and press New-born contentment out of life: If thoughts of sable breed and blind Should stamp upon the springing flower, Or blacker memories haunt the mind As ravens haunt the ruined tower:-- O then how sweet in heart to breathe Those pure Judean gales once more; From Bethlehem's crib to Nazareth In heart to tread that Syrian shore! To watch that star-like Infant bring To one of soul as clear and white May-lilies, fresh from Siloa's spring, Or Passion-flower with May-dews bright!