Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/405

Rh 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 inclined, 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? Oh, how soon the foot may slip, When the smooth ground pressing! Oh, how false are eye and lip, False a breath caressing!

To bright realms on high In majesty soaring, Oh, 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 the God-transfigured Son