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Read Ebook: May Carols by De Vere Aubrey
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Ebook has 88 lines and 6626 words, and 2 pages
He who of old on Calvary bled On all thine altars lies to-day, A bloodless Sacrifice, but dread; The Lamb in heaven adored for aye.
His Godhead on the Cross He veiled; His Manhood here He veileth too: But Faith has eagle eyes unsealed; And Love to Him she loves is true.
He comes! Blue Heaven, thine incense breathe O'er all the consecrated sod; And thou, O Earth, with flowers enwreathe The steps of thine advancing God!
What music swells on every gale? What heavenly Herald rideth past? Vale sings to vale, "He comes; all hail!" Sea sighs to sea, "He comes at last."
The Earth bursts forth in choral song; Aloft her "Lauda Sion" soars; Her myrtle boughs at once are flung Before a thousand Minster doors.
Far on the white processions wind Through wood and plain and street and court The kings and prelates pace behind The King of kings in seemly sort.
The incense floats on Grecian air; Old Carmel echoes back the chant; In every breeze the torches flare That curls the waves of the Levant.
On Ramah's plain--in Bethlehem's bound-- Is heard to-day a gladsome voice: "Rejoice," it cries, "the lost is found! With Mary's joy, O Earth, rejoice!"
Pleasant the swarm about the bough; The meadow-whisper round the woods; And for their coolness pleasant now The murmur of the falling floods.
Pleasant beneath the thorn to lie, And let a summer fancy loose; To hear the cuckoo's double cry; To make the noon-tide sloth's excuse.
Panting, but pleased, the cattle stand Knee-deep in water-weed and sedge, And scarcely crop the greener band Of osiers round the river's edge.
But hark! Far off the south wind sweeps The golden-foliaged groves among, Renewed or lulled, with rests and leaps-- Ah! how it makes the spirit long
To drop its earthly weight, and drift Like yon white cloud, on pinions free, Beyond that mountain's purple rift, And o'er that scintillating sea!
Sing on, wide winds, your anthems vast! The ear is richer than the eye: Upon the eye no shape can cast Such impress of Infinity.
And thou, my soul, thy wings of might Put forth:--thou too, one day shalt soar, And, onward borne in heavenward flight, The starry universe explore;
Breasting that breeze which waves the bowers Of Heaven's bright forest never mute, Whereof perchance this earth of ours Is but the feeblest forest-fruit.
"The Spirit bloweth where He wills"-- Effluence of that Life Divine Which wakes the Universe, and stills, In Thy strong refluence make us Thine!
Sole Maker of the Worlds! They lay A barren blank, a void, a nought, Beyond the ken of solar ray Or reach of archangelic thought.
Thou spak'st; and they were made! Forth sprang From every region of the abyss, Whose deeps, fire-clov'n, with anthems rang, The spheres new-born and numberless.
Thou spak'st:--upon the winds were found The astonished Eagles. Awed and hushed Subsiding seas revered their bound; And the strong forests upward rushed.
Before the Vision angels fell, As though the face of God they saw; And all the panting miracle Found rest within the arms of Law.
Perfect, O God, Thy primal plan-- That scheme frost-bound by Adam's sin: Create, within the heart of Man, Worlds meet for Thee; and dwell therein.
From Thy bright realm of Sense and Nature, Which flowers enwreathe and stars begem, Shape Thou Thy Church; the crowned Creature; The Bride; the New Jerusalem!
When from beneath the Almighty Hand The suns and systems rushed abroad, Like coursers which have burst their band, Or torrents when the ice is thawed;
When round in luminous orbits flung The great stars gloried in their might; Still, still, a bridgeless gulf there hung 'Twixt Finite things and Infinite.
That crown of light creation wore Was edged with vast unmeasured black; And all of natural good she bore Confessed her supernatural lack.
For what is Nature at the best? An arch suspended in its spring; An altar-step without a priest; A throne whereon there sits no king.
As one stone-blind that fronts the morn, The world before her Maker stood, Uplifting suppliant hands forlorn-- God's creature, yet how far from God!
He came. That world His priestly robe; The Kingly Pontiff raised on high The worship of the starry globe:-- The gulf was bridged, and God was nigh.
A woman "clothed with the sun," Yet fleeing from the Dragon's rage!-- The strife in Eden-bowers begun Swells upward to the latest age.
That woman's Son is throned on high; The angelic hosts before Him bend: The sceptre of His empery Subdues the worlds from end to end.
Yet still the sword goes through her heart, For still on earth His Church survives. In her that woman holds a part: In her she suffers, wakes, and strives.
Around her head the stars are set; A dying moon beneath her wanes: But he that letteth still must let: The Power accurst awhile remains.
Break up, strong Earth, thy stony floors, And snatch to penal caverns dun That Dragon from the pit that wars Against the woman and her Son!
No ray of all their silken sheen The leaves first fledged have lost as yet Unfaded, near the advancing queen Of flowers, abides the violet.
The rose succeeds--her month is come:-- The flower with sacred passion red: She sings the praise of martyrdom, And Him for whom His martyrs bled.
The perfect work of May is done: Hard by a new perfection waits:-- The twain, a sister and a nun, A moment parley at the grates.
The whiter Spirit turns in peace To hide her in the cloistral shade:-- 'Tis time that you should also cease, Slight carols in her honour made.
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