68. Saint Raphael

By the spring of God's Compassions,
Where the light is hard to bear,
Oh who is that golden Spirit
So intently gazing there?
By the sealed and secret fountain
In the midst of the Abyss,
Where God's love of human nature
Springs in life and light and bliss: —

That mysterious choice and liking
For our race above the rest,
Which is something more than mercy
In the Eternal Father's breast: —
O'er that fountain ever leaning,
As if listening to the sound,
A majestic Spirit watches,
In adoring rapture bound.

He hath watched there countless ages;
It hath been his special grace;
He hath learned a thousand secrets
From the spirit of the place.
He beholds all God's perfections;
Yet he chiefly loves to scan
That nameless leaning in the Godhead,
Which is special love of man.

He is glorious midst the angels,
Midst the highest there in heaven,
Standing almost in the furnace,
One of God's selected Seven!
He is special in his beauty;
Like unto him there is none;
Tender, patient, and pathetic.
Dear Saint Raphael stands alone,

He hath drunk of that one fountain
In the Godhead's placid breast,
Till his beautiful broad spirit
Is with love of man possessed.
Oh look, look upon his beauty,
E'en in heaven how passing fair!
God Himself, O grand Archangel!
Deems thee bright beyond compare.

Thou art special in thy longings.
Thou art special in thy crown;
Heaven wonders at thy beauty, —
'Tis a beauty of thy own.
Thou art Kaphael the Healer,
Thou art Raphael the Guide,
Thou art Raphael the Comrade
Aye at human sorrow's side.

Thou hast loved us like the Father,
With an unbought love and free;
Like the Father's pensive sweetness
Is the love of man in thee.
Thou hast loved us with that longing
Which so wrought upon the Word,
That He took our flesh upon Him,
And our race to thine preferred.

Yet the Person of the Spirit
Is reflected most in thee,
With thy fires, and consolations,
And man-loving jubilee:
For thy proper gift is gladness;
And thy nature is so sweet
Thou art made to be the shadow
Of the Unmade Paraclete.

It is God's exceeding pathos.
Which has tuned thy spirit thus;
It is God's exceeding sweetness,
Which inclines thee so to us.

Like the Human Heart of Jesus,
Thou art loving man all day:
Like the character of Mary
Is thy fashion and thy way.

There's scarce a joy thou wouldst not forfeit
The sweet joy of priests to win,
Scarce a gift thou wouldst not barter
For the i)ower to pardon sin.
O Ai'changel of Compassion!
Unto thee God's Heart is given;
For thou lov'st the gift of healing
Most of all the gifts of heaven.

Art thou angel, blessed Raphael!
Or a man in ano-ePs e:uise?
Or His likeness, who took on Him
Fallen man's infirmities?
Thou wouldst long to be incarnate
So to share the Saviour's part;
For the angels' s])irit in thee
Beateth strangely like a heart!

O thou human-hearted Seraph!
How I long to see thy face,
AVhere in silver showers of beauty
God bedews thee with His o^race!
But I see thee now in spirit
Mid the Godhead's silent springs,
With a soft eternal sunset
Sleeping ever on thy wings.