XVIII.
She mused upon the Saints of old;
Their toils, their pains, she longed to share
Of Him she mused, the Child foretold;
To Him her hands she stretched in prayer.
No moment passed without its crown;
And each new grace was used so well
It drew some tenfold talent down,
Some miracle on miracle.
O golden House! O boundless store
Of wealth by heavenly commerce won!
When God Himself could give no more,
He gave thee all; He gave His Son!
Blessed the Mother of her Lord!
And yet for this more blessed still,
Because she heard and kept His Word—
High servant of His sovereign Will!