Classic Poem

‘Wisdom hath built herself a House
And hewen her out her pillars seven.
Her wine is mixed; her guests are those
Who share the harvest-home of heaven.
The fruits upon her table piled
Are gathered from the Tree of Life:
Around are ranged the undefiled,
And those that conquered in the strife.
Who tends the guests? Who smiles away
Sad memories; bids misgiving cease?
A crowned One countenanced like the day—
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.