Saturday, June 27, 2020

MAGNIFICAT



MAGNIFICAT



Hers was no sudden rapture of the pen,
the poet of the Word who holds my heart;
familiar song she sang by night, by day,
with consummate art.


Soft preluding to cradle-lullabies
of star-eyed Babe, - and these her songs are glad –
to visioned Calvaries with their sequent woe,
and these her songs are sad.


With tremulous joy she wrote each variant theme
upon the lilied parchment of her soul:
love’s mute abandon, and the anguished sob
of multitudinous dole.


And all her song, safe hidden in her heart
fraught with a golden music, kept she well
until, for all her care, one song escaped,
and only God may tell


how, on a day, the Spirit unaware
rescued her rapture from oblivious lot;
a robin listened near, as Mary sang
One fair Magnificat.



Sister M Thérèse SDS
Now there is Beauty.  MacMillan.  1940
Used with permission






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