Classic Poem

Down drops the red sun in the burnished sea,
Down in rejoicing might
Into the trembling deep:
And while his hot rim slowly vanisheth
As if all drowned in sleep,
Soft swaying o'er the fragrant lea,
The Ave-chime forewarns the night,
And every care and labour banisheth.
‘Ave, Maria’ so it saith.

Slowly the red herd follows in a line
The sheep-bell fainter falls,
The corncrake's wooden note
Creaks through the green ears, rustling, waving slowly—
Like swaying, wind-tost boat;
Then hallowing the day's decline,
Christ's coming thrice the bell recalls,
And bids us hail the Maiden, great and lowly.
‘Ave, Maria’: Mother holy.

As sheaves of lilies lift their stately heads
Beside an alley green,
In queen-like, stainless pride,
So the great multitude thy fair head crowneth
The golden throne beside:
Yet violet in the fresh spring meads
Was never meeker, lowlier seen,
Which in the smiling rain the April drowneth.
‘Ave, Maria’: Gabriel saith.

Thou art the ‘mighty Mother’ of the Greeks;
Thy womb the earth enfolds;
Thy flesh, the germ of life;
From the mind of God Athenè leaping,
Armed for the deathless strife;
Thou art Demeter, when she seeks
Her child among the doomful holds;
Mother of harvests, sheaves of souls still reaping.
‘Ave, Maria’: Joying, weeping.

Then dreamt they thee, O bright and moon-crowned Maid,
As Huntress of the wild,
Chastiser of the proud;
Thy light from all base earthly churls concealing,
The false-tongued, loose-lifed crowd;
But in the fresh and hidden shade,
To hearts still undefiled,
Thy heavenly moon-bright face revealing.
‘Ave, Maria’: Name of healing.

Thou art the Mother of the fallen in fight;
Where their dead bodies lie
Thou keepest watch and ward,
Spreading thy sackcloth, scaring the birds of prey,
In sleepless, loving guard;
True Rispah, mother Israelite,
Thou seest the years go by,
Unfailing still, unknowing of decay.
‘Ave, Maria’: Maid alway.

Thou too, the Mother of earth's sad and reft,
Widowed and Childless Maid,
Thou by the cross must stand;
E'en when thy risen Lord to heaven ascending,
Not placed at his right hand,
But on the wild hill-side still left,
Thy rest for years delayed,
Still all thy bread with tears of longing blending.
‘Ave, Maria’: Love unending.

Then, when the red sun quenches in the wave,
And all the earth lies still,
Let us kneel down and pray—
Lifting our praying hands and thankful voices:
‘Mother, be thou our stay;
Strength we must plead for; love we crave;
Light for our warped and darkened will—
Until our soul, full-ripe, in heaven rejoices.’
Hear our voices, Mother-Maid.