The small soft feet that thrust like buds in Spring.
The body of Our Lord was all her own
Once. From the cross her arms received her King.
Think you that she, who bore Him on her breast,
Had not the Word still living in her heart?
Or that, because one voice had called her blest,
Her inmost soul had lost the better part?
Henceforth all generations......Ah, but that
You think was an ancient song she knew!
Millions this night will sing Magnificat,
And bring at least one strange prediction true.
Think you His heaven, that deep transcendent state,
Floats like Murillo's picture in the air?
Or that her life, so heavenly consecrate,
Had no essential habitation there?
Think you He looked upon her dying face,
And, throned above His burning seraphim,
Felt no especial tenderness or grace
For her whose life-blood once had throbbed in Him?
Proof of his filial love, His body on earth
Still lives and breathes, and tells us, night and day,
That earth and heaven were mingled in His birth,
Through her, who kneels beside us when we pray;
Kneels to the Word made flesh; Her living faith
Kneels to Incarnate Love, "not lent but given,"
Assumed to her on earth; and, after death,
Assuming her to His own heart in Heaven.
Alfred Noyes. The Tablet 10/28/50, page 375.
Would you believe that was written by the author of "The Highwayman?"
HT (and many other Assumption poems!): Assumption Poetry
A lovely meditation on the Assumption (which is on Friday, August 15th) here.
Photo by Peter Vagt
Ever since my first garden in my first house, I've associated white cosmos with the Assumption. They really come into full bloom about now, and the blossoms seem to float above the clouds of lacy foliage...