Classic Poem

This is the vision that I see arise
Like heaven unveiled to my adoring eyes—
The spotless Virgin poised in air serene,
With rapturous gaze and beatific mien;
The Infant-God, with his sublimest charms,
Throned in the clasp of her maternal arms;
Uplift my ravished senses to the skies,
And bear me to the gates of Paradise.

And as when erst on Thabor's holy sward,
To right, to left of earth's transfigured Lord,
Wrapt in the effulgence of that Form revered,
There Moses, there Elias re-appeared.
So here, in ether, 'mid the clouds are seen,
The glowing heaven's disparted veil between,
In hoary age and blooming youth displayed,
The reverent Pontiff and revering maid;
Sixtus discrowned, as though his hand had strown
Three crowns at once before the Great White Throne;
And Barbara, bending as the virgin-bride
Who waits the Bridegroom, with her lamp supplied.

Beneath, as though some casement in the sky
Were opened once for mortals ere they die,
Angelic types of those who do his will,
Lean forth entranced on the celestial sill.

Lost in the blaze that makes their splendours dim
Are cherub hosts and burning seraphim,
In myriad myriads dwindling from the sight,
Drowned in the depths of the Primeval Light.

The matchless whole a revelation seems
Of art's divinest and serenest dreams:
The God-like calm of that supernal brow
The Babe's rayed curls the Incarnate Word avow,
Gleams of the glory that the heavens declare
Stir in the radiant nimbus of his hair.
And she, the Maiden-Mother, whose sweet face
Shines with the effluence of the Godhead's grace—

Who shall define the infinite beauty shown
In every line that marks her for his own?
Who shall describe the exquisite surprise,
Love, peace and joy of her seraphic eyes?
The wondrous worlds of grief and rapture blent,
Consoled, assured in every lineament?

There in the symbolled Eden of that glance,
In the rapt bliss of that one countenance,
The eye discerns, the elated heart can find
The lowliest, heavenliest attributes combined.
No term of praise adorns the ‘Song of Songs’
But to that rare angelic look belongs.
What phrase is in Loretto's Litany?
Look in that face—it claims the apostrophe.