Page:Felicia Hemans in The National Magazine Volume II 1831.pdf/2



By the dark stillness brooding in the sky, Holiest of Sufferers! round thy path of woe, And by the weight of mortal agony Laid on thy dropping form, and pale, meek brow, My heart was aw'd: the burden of thy pain Sank on me with a mystery and a chain.

I look'd once more—and, as the virtue shed Forth from thy robe of old, so fell a ray Of victory from thy mein! And round thy head The halo, melting spirit-like away, Seemed of the very soul's bright rising, born To glorify all sorrow, shame, and scorn!

And upwards, through transparent darkness gleaming, Gaz'd, in mute reverence, Woman's earnest eye, Lit, as a vase whence inward light is streaming, With quenchless faith and deep love's fervency, Gathering, like incense round some dim veiled shrine, About the Form, so mournfully divine!

Oh! let thine image, as e'en there it rose, Live in my soul for ever, calm and clear, Making itself a temple of repose, Beyond the breath of human hope or fear! A holy place, where, through all storms, may lie One living beam of dayspring from on high!F. H.