"Father," they answered, "speak in parables!
For pleasant is the tale, and, onward pa.s.sed, Keeps in our hearts thy lesson."
While they spake, A youth rich-vested tossed his head and cried: "Father, why thus converse with untaught hinds?
Their life is but the life of gnats and flies: They think but of the hour. Behold yon church!
I reared it both for reverence of thy Christ, And likewise that through ages yet to come My name might live in honour!" At that word Cuthbert made answer: "Hear the parable!
My people craved for such.
A monk there lived Holiest of men reputed. He was first On winter mornings in the freezing stall; Meekest when chidden; fervent most in prayer: And, late in life, when heresies arose, That book he wrote, like tempest winged from G.o.d, Drave them to darkness back. Grey-haired he died; With honour was interred. The years went by; His grave they opened. Peacefully he slept, Unchanged, the smile of death upon his lips: O"er the right hand alone, for so it seemed, Had Death retained his power: five little lines, White ashes, showed where once the fingers lay.
All saw it--simple, learned, rich and poor: None might divine the cause. That night, behold!
A Saintly Shape beside the abbot stood, Bright like the sun except one lifted palm-- Thereon there lay a stain. "Behold that hand!"
The Spirit spake, "that, toiling twenty years, Sent forth that book which pacified the world; For it the world would canonise me Saint!
See that ye do it not! Inferior tasks I wrought for G.o.d alone. Building that book Too oft I mused, "Far years will give thee praise."
I expiate that offence."
Another day A sweet-faced woman raised her voice, and cried, "Father! those sins denounced by G.o.d I flee; Yet tasks imposed by G.o.d too oft neglect: Stands thus a soul imperilled?" Cuthbert spake: "Ye sued for parables; I speak in such, Though ill, a language strange to me, and new.
There lived a man who shunned committed sin, Yet daily by omission sinned and knew it: In his own way, not G.o.d"s, he served his G.o.d; And there was with him peace; yet not G.o.d"s peace.
So pa.s.sed his youth. In age he dreamed a dream: He dreamed that, being dead, he raised his eyes, And saw a mountain range of frozen snows, And heard, "Committed sins innumerable Though each one small--so small thou knew"st them not-- Uplifted, flake by flake as sin by sin, Yon barrier "twixt thy G.o.d and thee! Arise, Remembering that of sins despair is worst: Be strong, and scale it!" Fifty years he scaled Those hills; so long it seemed. A cavern next Entering, with mole-like hands he scooped his way, And reached at last the gates of morn. Ah me!
A stone"s cast from him rose the Tree of Life: He heard its sighs ecstatic: Full in view The Beatific River rolled; beyond All-glorious shone the City of the Saints Clothed with G.o.d"s light! And yet from him that realm Was severed by a gulf! Not wide that strait; It seemed a strong man"s leap twice told--no more; But, as insuperably soared that cliff, Unfathomably thus its sheer descent Walled the abyss. Again he heard that Voice: "Henceforth no place remains for active toils, Penance for acts perverse. Inactive sloth Through pa.s.sive suffering meets its due. On earth That sloth a nothing seemed; a nothing now That chasm whose hollow bars thee from the Blest, Poor slender film of insubstantial air.
Self-help is here denied thee; for that cause A twofold term thou need"st of pain love-taught To expiate Love that lacked." That term complete An angel caught him o"er that severing gulf:-- Thenceforth he saw his G.o.d."
With such discourse Progress, though slow and interrupted oft, The Saint of G.o.d, by no delay perturbed, Made daily through his sacred charge. One eve He walked by pastures arched along the sea, With many companied. The on-flowing breeze Glazed the green hill-tops, bending still one way The glossy gra.s.ses: limitless below The ocean mirror, clipped by cape or point With low trees inland leaning, lay like lakes Flooding rich lowlands. Southward far, a rock Touched by a rainy beam, emerged from mist, And shone, half green, half gold. That rock was Farne: Though strangers, those that kenned it guessed its name: "Doubtless "twas there," they said, "our Saint abode!"
Then pressed around him, questioning: "Rumour goes, Father beloved, that in thine island home Thou sat"st all day with hammer small in hand, Shaping, from pebbles veined, miraculous beads That save their wearers still from sword and lance:-- Are these things true? "Smiling the Saint replied: "True, and not true! That isle in part is spread With pebbles divers-fashioned, some like beads: I gathered such, and gave to many a guest, Adding, "Such beads shall count thy nightly prayers; Pray well; then fear no peril!""
Others came And thus demanded: "Rumour fills the world, Father, that birds miraculous crowned thine isle, And awe-struck let thee lift them in thy hand, Though scared by all beside." Smiling once more The Saint made answer, "True, and yet not true!
Sea-birds elsewhere beheld not throng that isle; A breed so loving and so firm in trust That, yet unharmed by man, they flee not man; Wondering they gaze; who wills may close upon them!
I signed a league betwixt that race and man, Pledging the mariners who sought my cell To reverence still that trust." He ended thus: "My friends, ye seek me still for parables; Seek them from Nature rather:--here are two!
Those pebble-beads are words from Nature"s lips Exhorting man to pray; those fearless birds Teach him that trust to innocence belongs By right divine, and more avails than craft To shield us from the aggressor." Some were glad Hearing that doctrine; others cried, "Not so!
Our Saint--all know it--makes miraculous beads; But, being humble, he conceals his might:"
And many an age, when slept that Saint in death, Pa.s.sing his isle by night the sailor heard Saint Cuthbert"s hammer clinking on the rock; And age by age men cried, "Our Cuthbert"s birds Revere the Saint"s command."
While thus they spake A horseman over moorlands near the Tweed Made hasty way, and thus addressed the Saint: "Father, Queen Ermenburga greets thee well, And this her message:--"Queen am I forlorn, Long buffeted by many a storm of state, And worn at heart besides; for in our house Peace lived not inmate, but a summer guest; And now, my lord, the King is slain in fight; And changed the aspect now things wore of old: Thou therefore, man of G.o.d, approach my gates With counsel sage. This further I require; Thy counsel must be worthy of a Queen, Nor aught contain displeasing."" Cuthbert spake: "My charge requires my presence at Carlisle; Beseech the Queen to meet me near its wall On this day fortnight."
Thitherwards thenceforth Swiftlier he pa.s.sed, while daily from the woods The woodmen flocked, and shepherds from the hills, Concourse still widening. These among there moved A hermit meek as childhood, calm as eld, Long years Saint Cuthbert"s friend. Recluse he lived Within a woody isle of that fair lake By Derwent lulled and Greta. Others thronged Round Cuthbert"s steps; that hermit stood apart With large dark eyes upon his countenance fixed, And pale cheek dewed with tears. The name he bore Was "Herbert of the Lake."
Two weeks went by, And Cuthbert reached his journey"s end. Next day G.o.d sent once more His Feast of Pentecost To gladden men; and all His Church on earth Shone out, irradiate as by silver gleams Flashed from her whiter Sister in the skies; And every altar laughed, and every hearth; And many a simple hind in spirit heard The wind which through that "upper chamber" swept Careering through the universe of G.o.d, New life through all things poured. Cuthbert that day, Borne on by winged winds of rapturous thought, Forth from Carlisle had fared alone, and reached Ere long a mead tree-girded;--in its midst Swift-flowing Eden raced from fall to fall, Showering at times her spray on flowers as fair As graced that earlier Eden; flowers so light Each feeblest breath impalpable to man Now shook them and now swayed. Delighted eye The Saint upon them fixed. Ere long he gazed As glad on crowds thronging the river"s marge, For now the high-walled city poured abroad Her children rich and poor. At last he spake: "Glory to Him Who made both flowers and souls!
He doeth all things well! A few weeks past Yon river rushed by wintry banks forlorn; What decks it thus to-day? The voice of Spring!
She called those flowers from darkness forth: she flashed Her life into the snowy breast of each: This day she sits enthroned on each and all: The thrones are myriad; but the Enthroned is One!"
He paused; then, kindling, added thus: "O friends!
"Tis thus with human souls through faith re-born: One Spirit calls them forth from darkness; shapes One Christ, in each conceived, its life of life; One G.o.d finds rest enthroned on all. Once more The thrones are many; but the Enthroned is One!"
Again he paused, and mused: again he spake: "Yea, and in heaven itself, a hierarchy There is that glories in the name of "Thrones:"
The high cherubic knowledge is not theirs; Not theirs the fiery flight of Seraph"s love, But all their restful beings they dilate To make a single, myriad throne for G.o.d-- Children, abide in unity and love!
So shall your lives be one long Pentecost, Your hearts one throne for G.o.d!"
As thus he spake A breeze, wide-wandering through the woodlands near, Illumed their golden roofs, while louder sang The birds on every bough. Then horns were heard Resonant from stem to stem, from rock to rock, While moved in sight a stately cavalcade Flushing the river"s crystal. Of that host Foremost and saddest Ermenburga rode, A Queen sad-eyed, with large imperial front By sorrow seamed: a lady rode close by; Behind her earls and priests. Though proud to man Her inborn greatness made her meek to G.o.d: She signed the Saint to stay not his discourse, And placed her at his feet.
His words were great: He spake of Pentecost; no transient grace, No fugitive act, consummated, then gone, But G.o.d"s perpetual presence in that Church O"er-shadowed still, like Mary, by His Spirit, Fecundated in splendour by His Truth, Made loving through His Love. The reign of Love He showed, though perfected in Christ alone, Not less co-eval with the race of man: For what is man? Not mind: the beasts can think: Not pa.s.sions; appet.i.tes: the beasts have these: Nay, but Affections ruled by Laws Divine: These make the life of man. Of these he spake; Proclaimed of these the glory. These to man Are countless loves revealing Love Supreme: These and the Virtues, warp and woof, enweave A single robe--that sacrificial garb Worn from the first by man, whose every act Of love in spirit was self-sacrifice, And prophesied the Sacrifice Eterne: Through these the world becomes one household vast; Through these each hut swells to a universe Traversed by stateliest energies wind-swift, And planet-crowned, beneath their Maker"s eye.
All hail, Affections, angels of the earth!
Woe to that man who boasts of love to G.o.d, And yet his neighbour scorns! While Cuthbert spake A young man whispered to a priest, "Is yon That Anch.o.r.et of the rock? Where learned he then This loving reverence for the hearth and home?
Mark too that glittering brow!" The priest replied: "What! shall a bridegroom"s face alone be bright?
He knows a better mystery! This he knows, That, come what may, all o"er the earth forever G.o.d keeps His blissful Bridal-feast with man: Each true heart there is guest!"
Once more the Saint Arose and spake: "O loving friends, my children, Christ"s sons, His flock committed to my charge!
I spake to you but now of humbler ties, Not highest, with intent that ye might know How pierced are earthly bonds by heavenly beam; Yet, speaking with lame tongue in parables, I shewed you but similitudes of things-- Twilight, not day. Make question then who will; So shall I mend my teaching."
Prompt and bright As children issuing forth to holyday, Then flocked to Cuthbert"s school full many a man Successive: each with simpleness of heart His doubt propounded; each his question asked, Or, careless who might hear, confessed his sins, And absolution won. Among the rest, A little seven years" boy, with sweet, still face, Yet strong not less, and sage, drew softly near, His great calm eyes upon the patriarch fixed, And silent stood. From Wess.e.x came that boy: By chance Northumbria"s guest. Meantime a chief Demanded thus: "Of all the works of might, What task is worthiest?" Cuthbert made reply: "His who to land barbaric fearless fares, And open flings G.o.d"s palace gate to all, And cries "Come in!"" That concourse thrilled for joy: Alone that seven years" child retained the word: The rest forgat it. "Winifrede" that day Men called him; later centuries, "Boniface,"
Because he shunned the ill, and wrought the good: In time the Teuton warriors knew that brow-- Their great Apostle he: they knew that voice: And happy Fulda venerates this day Her martyr"s gravestone.
Next, to Cuthbert drew Three maidens hand in hand, lovely as Truth, Trustful, though shy: their thoughts, when hidden most, Wore but a semilucid veil, as when Through gold-touched crystal of the lime new-leaved On April morns the symmetry looks forth Of branch and bough distinct. Smiling, they put At last their question: "Tell us, man of G.o.d, What life, of lives that women lead, is best; Then show us forth in parables that life!"
He answered: "Three; for each of these is best: First comes the Maiden"s: she who lives it well Serves G.o.d in marble chapel white as snow, His priestess--His alone. Cold flowers each morn She culls ere sunrise by the stainless stream, And lays them on that chapel"s altar-stone, And sings her matins there. Her feet are swift All day in labours "mid the vales below, Cheering sad hearts: each evening she returns To that high fane, and there her vespers sings; Then sleeps, and dreams of heaven."
With witching smile The youngest of that beauteous triad cried: "That life is sweetest! I would be that maid!"
Cuthbert resumed: "The Christian Wife comes next: She drinks a deeper draught of life: round her In ampler sweep its sympathies extend: An infant"s cry has knocked against her heart, Evoking thence that human love wherein Self-love hath least. Through infant eyes a spirit Hath looked upon her, crying, "I am thine!
Creature from G.o.d--dependent yet on thee!"
Thenceforth she knows how greatness blends with weakness; Reverence, thenceforth, with pity linked, reveals To her the pathos of the life of man, A thing divine, and yet at every pore Bleeding from crowned brows. A heart thus large Hath room for many sorrows. What of that?
Its sorrow is its dowry"s n.o.blest part.
She bears it not alone. Such griefs, so shared-- Sickness, and fear, and vigils lone and long, Waken her heart to love sublimer far Than ecstasies of youth could comprehend; Lift her perchance to heights serene as those The Ascetic treadeth."
"I would be that wife!"
Thus cried the second of those maidens three: Yet who that gazed upon her could have guessed Creature so soft could bear a heart so brave?
She seemed that goodness which was beauteous too; Virtue at once, and Virtue"s bright reward; Delight that lifts, not lowers us; made for heaven;-- Made too to change to heaven some brave man"s hearth.
She added thus: "Of lives that women lead Tell us the third!"
Gently the Saint replied: "The third is Widowhood--a wintry sound; And yet, for her who widow is indeed, That winter something keeps of autumn"s gold, Something regains of Spring"s first flower snow-white, Snow-cold, and colder for its rim of green.
She feels no more the warmly-greeting hand; The eyes she brightened rest on her no more; Her full-orbed being now is cleft in twain: Her past is dead: daily from memory"s self Dear things depart; yet still she is a wife, A wife the more because of bridal bonds Lives but their essence, waiting wings in heaven;-- More wife; and yet, in that great loneliness, More maiden too than when first maidenhood Lacked what it missed not. Like that other maid She too a lonely Priestess serves her G.o.d; Yea, though her chapel be a funeral vault, Its altar black like Death;--the flowers thereon, Tinct with the Blood Divine. Above that vault She hears the anthems of the Spouse of Christ, Widowed, like her, though Bride."
"O fair, O sweet, O beauteous lives all three; fair lot of women!"
Thus cried again the youngest of those Three, Too young to know the touch of grief--or cause it-- A plant too lightly leaved to cast a shade.
The eldest with pale cheek, and lids tear-wet, Made answer sad: "I would not be a widow."
Then Cuthbert spake once more with smile benign: "I said that each of these three lives is best:-- There are who live those three conjoined in one: The nun thus lives! What maid is maid like her Who, free to choose, has vowed a maidenhood Secure "gainst chance or choice? What bride like her Whose Bridegroom is the spouse of vestal souls?
What widow lives in such austere retreat, Such hourly thought of him she ne"er can join Save through the gate of death? If those three lives In separation lived are fair and sweet, How show they, blent in one?"
Of those who heard The most part gladdened; those who knew how high Virtue, renouncing all besides for G.o.d, Hath leave to soar on earth. Yet many sighed, Jealous for happy homesteads. Cuthbert marked That shame-faced sadness, and continued thus: "To praise the nun reproaches not, O friends, But praises best that life of hearth and home At Cana blessed by Him who shared it not.
The uncloistered life is holy too, and oft Through changeful years in soft succession links Those three fair types of woman; holds, diffused, That excellence severe which life detached Sustains in concentration." Long he mused; Then added thus: "When last I roved these vales There lived, not distant far, a blessed one Revered by all: her name was Ethelreda: I knew her long, and much from her I learned.
Beneath her Pagan father"s roof there sat Ofttimes a Christian youth. With him the child Walked, calling him "her friend." He loved the maid: Still young, he drew her to the fold of Christ; Espoused her three years later; died in war Ere three months pa.s.sed. For her he never died!
Immortalised by faith that bond lived on; And now close by, and now "mid Saints of heaven She saw her husband walk. She never wept; That fire which lit her eye and flushed her cheek Dried up, it seemed, her tears: the neighbours round Called her "the lady of the happy marriage."
She died long since, I doubt not." Forward stepped A slight, pale maid, the daughter of a bard, And answered thus: "Two months ago she died."
Then Cuthbert: "Tell me, maiden, of her death; And see you be not chary of your words, For well I loved that woman." Tears unfelt Fast streaming down her pallid cheek, the maid Replied--yet often paused: "A sad, sweet end!
A long night"s pain had left her living still: I found her on the threshold of her door:-- Her cheek was white; but, trembling round her lips, And dimly o"er her countenance spread, there lay Something that, held in check by feebleness, Yet tended to a smile. A cloak tight-drawn From the cold March wind screened her, save one hand Stretched on her knee, that reached to where a beam, Thin slip of watery sunshine, sunset"s last, Slid through the branches. On that beam, methought, Rested her eyes half-closed. It was not so: For when I knelt, and kissed that hand ill-warmed, Smiling she said: "The small, unwedded maid Has missed her mark! You should have kissed the ring!
Full forty years upon a widowed hand It holds its own. It takes its latest sunshine."
She lived through all that night, and died while dawned Through snows Saint Joseph"s morn."
The Queen, with hand Sudden and swift, brushed from her cheek a tear; And many a sob from that thick-crowding host Confessed what tenderest love can live in hearts Defamed by fools as barbarous. Cuthbert sat In silence long. Before his eyes she pa.s.sed, The maid, the wife, the widow, all in one; With these,--through these--he saw once more the child, Yea, saw the child"s smile on the lips of death, That magic, mystic, smile! O heart of man, What strange capacities of grief and joy Are thine! How vain, how ruthless such, if given For transient things alone! O life of man!
What wert thou but some laughing demon"s scoff, If prelude only to the eternal grave!
"Deep cries to deep"--ay, but the deepest deep Crying to summits of the mount of G.o.d Drags forth for echo, "Immortality."
It was the Death Divine that vanquished death!
Shorn of that Death Divine the Life Divine, Albeit its feeblest tear had cleansed all worlds, Cancelled all guilt, had failed to reach and sound The deepest in man"s nature, Love and Grief, Profoundest each when joined in penitent woe; Failed thence to wake man"s hope. The loftiest light Flashed from G.o.d"s Face on Reason"s orient verge Answers that bird-cry from the _Heart_ of man-- Poor Heart that, darkling, kept so long its watch-- The auspice of the dawn.
Like one inspired The Saint arose, and raised his hands to G.o.d; Then to his people turned with such discourse As mocks the hand of scribe. No more he spake In parables; adumbrated no more "Dimly as in a gla.s.s" his doctrine high, But placed it face to face before men"s eyes, Essential Truth, G.o.d"s image, meet for man, Himself G.o.d"s image. Worlds he showed them new, Worlds countless as the stars that roof our night, Fair fruitage of illimitable boughs, Pushed from that Tree of Life from Calvary sprung That over-tops and crowns the earth and man; Preached the Resurgent, the Ascended G.o.d Dispensing "gifts to men." The tongue he spake Seemed Pentecostal--grace of that high Feast-- For all who heard, the simple and the sage, Heard still a single language sounding forth To all one Promise. From that careworn Queen, Who doffed her crown, and placed it on the rock, Murmuring, "Farewell forever, foolish gaud,"
To him the humblest hearer, all made vow To live thenceforth for G.o.d. The form itself Of each was changed to saintly and to sweet; Each countenance beamed as though with rays cast down From fiery tongues, or angel choirs unseen.
Thus like high G.o.ds on mountain-tops of joy Those happy listeners sat. The body quelled-- With all that body"s might usurped to cramp Through ceaseless, yet unconscious, weight of sense Conceptions spiritual, might more subtly skilled Than l.u.s.ts avowed, to sap the spirit"s life-- In every soul its n.o.bler Powers released Stood up, no more a jarring crowd confused Each trampling each and oft the worst supreme, Not thus, but grade o"er grade, in order due, And pomp hierarchical. Yet hand in hand, Not severed, stood those Powers. To every Mind That truth new learned was palpable and dear, Not abstract nor remote, with cordial strength Enclasped as by a heart; through every Heart Serene affections swam "mid seas of light, Reason"s translucent empire without bound, Fountained from G.o.d. Silent those listeners sat Parleying in wordless thought. For them the world Was lost--and won; its sensuous aspects quenched; Its heavenly import grasped. The erroneous Past Lay like a shrivelled scroll before their feet; And sweet as some immeasurable rose, Expanding leaf on leaf, varying yet one, The Everlasting Present round them glowed.
Dead was desire, and dead not less was fear-- The fear of change--of death.
An hour went by; The sun declined: then rising from his seat, Herbert, the anch.o.r.et of the lonely lake, Made humble way to Cuthbert"s feet with suit: "O Father, and O friend, thou saw"st me not; Yet day by day thus far I tracked thy steps At distance, for my betters leaving place, The great and wise that round thee thronged; the young Who ne"er till then had seen thy face; the old Who saw it then, yet scarce again may see.
Father, a happier lot was mine, thou know"st, Or had been save for sin of mine: each year I sought thy cell, thy words of wisdom heard; Yet still, alas! lived on like sensual men Who yield their hearts to creatures--fixing long A foolish eye on gold-touched leaf, or flower-- Not Him, the great Creator. Father and Friend, The years run past. I crave one latest boon: Grant that we two may die the self-same day!"
Then Cuthbert knelt, and prayed. At last he spake: "Thy prayer is heard; the self-same day and hour We two shall die."
That promise was fulfilled; For two years only on exterior tasks G.o.d set His servant"s hands--the man who "sought In all things rest," nor e"er had ceased from rest Then when his task was heaviest. Two brief years He roamed on foot his spiritual realm: The simple still he taught: the sad he cheered: Where"er he went he founded churches still, And convents; yea, and, effort costlier far, Spared not to scan defect with vigilant eye: That eye the boldest called not "vision-dazed"; That Saint he found no "dreamer:" sloth or greed "Scaped not his vengeance: scandals hid he not, But dragged them into day, and smote them down: Before his face he drave the hireling priest, The bandit thane: unceasing cried, "Ye kings, Cease from your wars! Ye masters, loose your slaves!"
Two years sufficed; for all that earlier life Had trained the Ascetic for those works of might Beyond the attempt of all but boundless love, And in him kept unspent the fire divine.
Never such Bishop walked till then the North, Nor ever since, nor ever, centuries fled, So lived in hearts of men. Two years gone by, His strength decayed. He sought once more his cell Sea-lulled; and lived alone with G.o.d; and saw Once more, like lights that sweep the unmoving hills, G.o.d"s providences girdling all the world, With glory following glory. Tenderer-souled Herbert meantime within his isle abode, At midnight listening Derwent"s gladsome voice Mingling with deep-toned Greta"s, "Mourner" named; Pacing, each day, the sh.o.r.e; now gazing glad On gold-touched leaf, or bird that cut the mere, Now grieved at wandering thoughts. For men he prayed; And ever strove to raise his soul to G.o.d; And G.o.d, Who venerates still the pure intent, Forgat not his; and since his spirit and heart Holy albeit, were in the Eyes Divine Less ripe than Cuthbert"s for the Vision Blest, Least faults perforce swelling where gifts are vast, That G.o.d vouchsafed His servant sickness-pains Virtue to perfect in a little s.p.a.ce, That both might pa.s.s to heaven the self-same hour.
It came: that sun which flushed the spray up-hurled In cloud round Cuthbert"s eastern rock, while he Within it dying chanted psalm on psalm, Ere long enkindled Herbert"s western lake: The splendour waxed; mountain to mountain laughed, And, brightening, nearer drew, and, nearing, clasped That heaven-dropp"d beauty in more strict embrace: The cliffs successive caught their crowns of fire; Blencathara last. Slowly that splendour waned; And from the glooming gorge of Borrodale, Her purple cowl shadowing her holy head O"er the dim lake twilight with silent foot Stepped like a spirit. Herbert from his bed Of shingles watched that sunset till it died; And at one moment from their distant isles Those friends, by death united, pa.s.sed to G.o.d.
_SAINT FRIDESWIDA, OR THE FOUNDATIONS OF OXFORD_.
Frideswida flies from the pursuit of a wicked king, invoking the Divine aid and the prayers of St. Catherine and St. Cecilia. She escapes; and at the hour of her death those Saints reveal to her that in that place, near the Isis, where she has successively opened a blind man"s eyes and healed a leper, G.o.d will one day raise up a seat of Learning, the light and the health of the realm.
"One love I; One: within His bridal bower My feet shall tread: One love I, One alone: His Mother is a Virgin, and His Sire The unfathomed fount of pureness undefiled: Him love I Whom to love is to be chaste: Him love I touched by Whom my forehead shines: Whom she that clasps grows spotless more and more: Behold, to mine His spirit He hath joined: And His the blood that mantles in my cheek: His ring is on my finger."
Thus she sang; Then walked and plucked a flower: she sang again: "That which I longed for, lo, the same I see: That which I hoped for, lo, my hand doth hold: At last in heaven I walk with Him conjoined Whom, yet on earth, I loved with heart entire."