Classic Poem

HIGH-PRIEST .

Daughter of Joachim and Anna blest!
Of David's race the loveliest and the best!
Scion of Jesse, in whose stem entwine
The sacerdotal and the regal line;
In whom, with ever-new delight, we trace
New miracles of still increasing grace;—
Accept the homage that we come to pay
On the bright morning of thy natal day.

  O, how can we enough record
  Our grateful thanks to Israel's Lord!
  For sending us, in this the hour
  Of Juda's fast-departing power,
  Of Juda's crime, and Juda's shame,
  This Treasure of immortal fame!
  This earnest of the Father's love!
  This pure and spotless Turtle-dove!
  This Paradisal prodigy!
  This Flower of immortality!
Not without cause, O Virgin pre-elect,
Do we from thee auspicious days expect;
Remembering how from Anna's barren womb,
Child of a vow, thou didst divinely come;
How all the gifts of reason, virtue, grace,
In thee, from thy Conception, found a place;—
  How, hither of thine own accord
  Thou camest with thy parents dear
  To be presented to the Lord,
  And dwell with Him in secret here,
  While yet, O mystery divine!
  Only three short years were thine!
Nor camest thou by Angels unattended;—
  Myself beheld their guardian wings,
  O, sacred Heir of Juda's kings!
  High above thy radiant head
  A circumambient glory spread,
In mystic rays of pearl and azure blended!

Now, therefore, from prophetic signs most clear
Knowing that soon Messias must appear;
  And having watch'd from day to day
  Thy soul its hidden wealth display,
  As from some unfathom'd mine
  Full of treasures all divine;—
Marking thy life of ceaseless prayer and praise;—
Marking thy various superhuman ways;—
Marking thy most august humility,
That nothing worthy in itself can see;—
We judge that thou must be
None other but that Virgin, long foretold
By word, and type, and mysteries manifold,—
That Virgin promised at Creation's morn,
As her of whom Messias should be born;
Whose foot should crush the Serpent's head,
And down in dust the pride of raging Satan tread!

 Hail, then, O Israel's joy! Hail, Orient Gate!
 Through which the everlasting Increate,—
 The Infinite Almighty King of kings,—
 Shall enter on the stage of finite things.
Hail, Stair of light!
That burst on Jacob's sight,
  Spangling the gloomy vault of ebon night!
  What time, an exile flying,
  He rested, on his stony pillow lying!
Stair of crystalline glass:
 Along whose sacred flights, that tier by tier
 Scale Heaven's etherial sphere,
Angels ascending and descending pass!—
 To whose firm base the earth a floor supplies,
 Whose azure heights are lost beyond the skies!—
 Hail, thou, whose faith to Israel shall restore
 More than the glory that was hers of yore;
 From whose most sacred and imperial womb
 The great High Priest in majesty shall come,
Chosen for ever, as the Psalmist spake,
After the order of Melchisedech!