Where single-hearted; By nought but deathless love Can they be parted. THE YOUNGER ANGELS. See where a spirit-race Bursts on the sight! Dimly their forms I trace Round the far height. Each cloud becometh clear, While the bright troops appear Of the blest boys, From the Earth's burden free, In a glad company Drinking in joys, Born of the world above, Springtime and bliss. May they forerunners prove Of a more perfect love, Link'd on to this! THE BEATIFIED CHILDREN. Thus as a chrysalis Gladly we gain him, And as a pledge of bliss Safely retain him; When from the shell he's free Whereby he's tainted, Perfect and fair he'll be, Holy and sainted. DOCTOR MARINAS. (In the highest, purest cell.) Wide is the prospect here, Raised is the soul; Women on high appear, Seeking their goal. 'Mongat them the radiant one, Queen of the skies, In her bright starry crown Greets my glad eyes. (With ecstasy.) Thou who art of earth the queen. Let me, 'neath the blue Heav'nly canopy serene Thy sweet mystery view! Grant the gentle solemn force Which the breast can move. And direct our onward course Tow'rd thy perfect love. Dauntless let our courage be, At thy bright behest; Mild our ardour suddenly, When thou bidd'st us rest. Virgin, type of holiness, Mother, honour-crown'd, Thou whom we as queen confess, Godlike and renowned. Round her, in gentle play, Light clouds are stealing; Penitents fair are they, Who, humbly kneeling, Sip in the ether sweet, As they for grace entreat. Thou, who art from passions free, Kindly art inclin'd, When the sons of frailty Seek thee, meek in mind. Borne by weakness' stream along, Hard it is to save them; Who can burst lust's chains so strong, That, alas, enslave them? O how soon the foot may slip, When the smooth ground pressing! O, how false are eye and lip, False a breath caressing! MATER GLORLOSA hovers past. CHORUS OF PENITENT WOMEN. To bring realms on high In majesty soaring, O, hark to our cry Thy pity imploring, Thou help to the cheerless, In glory so peerless! MAGNA PECCATRIX (St. Luke vii. 36). By the love, which o'er the feet Of thy God-transfigur'd Son Dropp'd the team, like balsam sweet, Spite of ev'ry scornful one; By the box of ointment rare, Whence the drops so fragrant fell; By the locks, whose gentle care Dried His holy members well-- muller SAMARITANA (St, John iv.). By the well where Abram erst Drove his flocks to drink their fill; By the bucket which the thirst Of the Saviour served to still; By the fountain, balm-exhaling, That from yon bright region flows, Ever clear and never failing. As round ev'ry world it goes-- MARIA AEGYPTIACA (Acta Sanctorum). By the sacred spot immortal, Where the Lord's remains they plac'd; By the arm, that from the portal Drove me back with warning haste; By my forty years of lowly Penance in a desert land; By the farewell greetings holy That I wrote upon the sand--