REDEMPTION. 141
As must commensurate the seeming ill.
Then let the sorrow, which o'erwhelms thee now,
Give place to that heroic aim, sublime,
Which bids thee rise superior, undismay'd,
'Bove all the transient woes, t' which flesh is heir.
Not that I chide thy tears; 'tis good to weep;
Good, when the cords, which nature binds, are strain' d,
Good, when bereavement friendship's heartstrings snap,
But best, when shed o'er others' ills and woes,
And Love, the oil of consolation pours."
Thus Jesus, bending o'er whom he revered, Dear to his soul, whose flesh and blood he bore, The balm of love pour'd in her troubled breast; Clasp'd her to his, and wiped away the tears, Which love's emotion coursed along her cheeks; When Mary thus, with trembling voice, renew'd :
" My Lord, my Son, this bleeding heart forebodes, All that thy gentle words and love conceal. I know thou art but lent to me, too soon, Alas! how soon, to be withdrawn, and fear, By some dread anguish, not to me reveal'd. What sorrows equal mine ! What mother's breast So torn with anguish, and despoil'd by death! First Joachim, revered, resign'd this life, Next, Anne, from whom being I received; Then last, my holy spouse, though full of years, And ripen'd for the harvest Death must reap, Renews the wound, which time had scarcely heal'd; Now thou, my Son, my life, my hope, my strength, My father, mother, spouse, and only stay, Thou too wilt leave me, hopeless, lone, bereft.
Why not the mystery of thine earthly life
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