To us Thy words!... But, see, In Thy idolatry Of us, all thought Of counsel fails and falls to nought! Pearl of Great Price, within the monstrance set, Why wilt Thou for Thyself Thy charge forget? O Love, from deeps before the world began, O Sheltered of God’s Bosom, why for man Wilt Thou so madly in the slough be cast, Concealed ’mid tramplings and disgrace of swine? O Host, O White, Benign! Why spend in rage of love at last Thy wisdom all eternity amassed? BLESSED ARE THE BEGGARS MATT. v. 3 I Take me along with thee, O blessed, seeking one! Take me along with thee! Thou art not poor; Arimathea doth thy wealth immure; Thou hast a garden in the country sun; Thou hast a new, clean-chiselled grave awaits thee, A grave, self-chosen, neither low nor narrow; And thou couldst bring excess of myrrh and aloe As gift where thou dost love, If thou thy love wouldst prove: Yet must thou beg. A beggar Pilate rates thee, Coming to beg the body of thy Lord, Cast from the Cross by men, of thee adored.[A] [A] “This man went unto Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus.”--Luke xxiii. 52. II Take me along with thee, and let me learn thy prayer! Take me along with thee! I must prevail. For all that I possess is void and stale Unless I have God’s Body in my care. Kneeling together, make for both petition! Only upon our knees shall we receive Him, Only by importunity achieve Him, And crying with one need. Prompt in thy grace, give heed! I am a beggar of thy wild condition: I huddle to thy side, my hope is thine, Thy will my will--His Body must be mine. THE BLESSED SACRAMENT Lo, from Thy Father’s bosom Thou dost sigh; Deep to Thy restlessness His ear is bent:-- “Father, the Paraclete is sent, Wrapt in a foaming wind He passeth by. Behold, men’s hearts are shaken--I must die: Sure as a star within the firmament Must be my dying: lo, my wood is rent, My cross is sunken! Father, I must die!” Lo, how God loveth us, He looseth hold.... His Son is back among us, with His own, And craving at our hands an altar-stone. Thereon, a victim, meek He takes his place; And, while to offer Him His priests make bold, He looketh upward to His Father’s Face. THE BLESSED SACRAMENT I Gather, gather, Drawn by the Father, Drawn to the dear procession of His Son! They are bearing His Body.... Run To the Well-Belovèd! Haste to Him, Who down the street passeth secretly, Adorned with Seraphim, Still as the blooms of an apple-tree. II