Classic Poem

Fair was the night,—for the sun had set,—
And the hills of Palestine
Stood boldly forth from the western sky,
And the stars had a wondrous sheen.

But something seemed in the fragrant air
Like incense gladly given,
And the holy silence that brooded round
Was the very hush of heaven.

In a cottage home of Nazareth
Stood a maiden young and fair.
White as the foam was her spotless brow,
Ebon her flowing hair.

And God had seen what the eye of man
Might never have power to see,
That in all the earth there was none so pure
As Mary of Galilee.

A sudden tremor filled the air;
A white and dazzling face
Beamed on her sight; and the maiden bowed
With an awed and lowly grace.

For she knew that Jehovah's messenger
Had entered her lowly room,
And deep in her soul a rising prayer
Was opening into bloom.

Then the angel spoke,—and his every tone
Was musical as the sea's,—
“Hail, Mary, blessed art thou,” he said,
“Blessed with endless peace;

“For a glory to thee has been vouchsafed
That never was given before.
Lo! thou shall bear the Holy One
Foretold in days of yore;

“And he shall be called the Son of God;
And Jesus his name shall be;
And the throne of David shall be his throne
To all eternity.”

“Behold the handmaid of the Lord,
His holy will be done,”
Said Mary, and over her face there broke
A glow like the setting sun.

For her soul was full of a holy light,
And she knew that to her was given
A crown eternal, surpassing all
The glories of earth and heaven.

Yea, the seraphs that sing by the spotless throne
Such glory might never see
As God had granted the lowly maid,
Sweet Mary of Galilee.