Page:The Christian Year 1887.djvu/64

 Or, when the summer sun goes down, The first soft star in evening's crown Light up her gleaming crest?

Fondly we seek the dawning bloom On features wan and fair, The gazing eye no change can trace, But look away a little space, Then turn, and lo! 'tis there.

But there's a sweeter flower than e'er  Blushed on the rosy spray - A brighter star, a richer bloom Than e'er did western heaven illume At close of summer day.

'Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven; Love gentle, holy, pure; But tenderer than a dove's soft eye, The searching sun, the open sky, She never could endure.

E'en human Love will shrink from sight Here in the coarse rude earth: How then should rash intruding glance Break in upon HER sacred trance Who boasts a heavenly birth?

So still and secret is her growth, Ever the truest heart, Where deepest strikes her kindly root For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, Least knows its happy part.

God only, and good angels, look Behind the blissful screen - As when, triumphant o'er His woes, The Son of God by moonlight rose, By all but Heaven unseen:

As when the holy Maid beheld Her risen Son and Lord: Thought has not colours half so fair That she to paint that hour may dare, In silence best adored.