May Carols Part 13

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_"Tu sola interemisti omnes Haereses."_

x.x.xI.

What tenderest hand uprears on high The standard of Incarnate G.o.d?

Successive portents that deny Her Son, who tramples? She who trod

On Satan erst with starlike scorn!

Ah! never Alp looked down through mist As she, that whiter star of morn, Through every cloud that darkens Christ!

Roll back the centuries:--who were those That, age by age, their Lord denied?

Their seats they set with Mary's foes:-- They mocked the Mother as the Bride.

Of such was Arius; and of such He whom the Ephesian Sentence felled, [Footnote 2]

Her t.i.tle triumphed. At the touch [Footnote 3]

Of Truth the insurgent rout was quelled.

[Footnote 2: Nestorius.]

[Footnote 3: Dei-para.]

Back, back the hosts of h.e.l.l were driven As forth that sevenfold thunder rolled:-- And in the Church's mystic Heaven There was great silence as of old.

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MAY CAROLS.

PART III.

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PART III.

I.

In vain thine altars do they heap With blooms of violated May Who fail the words of Christ to keep; Thy Son who love not, nor obey.

Their songs are as a serpent's hiss; Their praise a poniard's poisoned edge; Their offering taints, like Judas' kiss, Thy shrine; their vows are sacrilege.

Sadly from such thy countenance turns: Thou canst not stretch thy Babe to such (Albeit for all thy pity yearns) As greet Him with a leper's touch.

Who loveth thee must love thy Son.

Weak Love grows strong thy smile beneath: But nothing comes from nothing; none Can reap Love's harvest out of Death.

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_Babylon._

II.

The watchman watched along the walls: And lo! an hour or more ere light Loud rang his trumpet. From their halls The revellers rushed into the night.

There hung a terror on the air; There moved a terror under ground;-- The hostile hosts, heard everywhere, Within, without--were nowhere found.

"The Christians to the lions! Ho!"-- Alas! self-tortured crowds, let be!

Let go your wrath; your fears let go: Ye gnaw the net, but cannot flee.

Ye drank from out Orestes' cup; Orestes' Furies drave ye wild.

Who conquers from on high? Look up!

A Woman, holding forth a Child!

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III.

The golden rains are dashed against Those verdant walls of lime and beech With which our happy vale is fenced Against the north; yet cannot reach

The stems that lift yon leafy crest High up above their dripping screen: The chestnut fans are downward pressed On banks of bluebell hid in green.

White vapours float along the glen, Or rise from every sunny brake;-- A pause amid the gusts--again The warm shower sings across the lake.

Sing on, all-cordial showers, and bathe The deepest root of loftiest pine!

The cowslip dimmed, the "primrose rathe"

Refresh; and drench in nectarous wine

Yon fruit-tree copse, all blossomed o'er With forest-foam and crimson snow-- Behold! above it bursts once more The world-embracing, heavenly bow!

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_Sedes Sapientiae._

IV.

O that the wordy war might cease!