72. Saint Anne

O Anne! thou hadst lived through those long dreary
years,
When childlessness hung o'er thy home like a
blight;
But angels, dear mother! were counting thy tears,
And thy patience, like Job's, had been dear in
God's sight.

Thou wert meek when they scorned thee; thy rest
was in prayer!
Thy sorrow was sharp, yet its sharpness was
sweet >
When those that were round thee gave way to
despair,
Thy faith was more certain, thy trust more com-
plete.

Oh the vision of thee in thy lone mountain home,
AVith thy calm l^roken heart so heart-breaking to
see,
In those dark after-years to thy Daughter might
come,
And the great Queen of sorrows learn somethinp-
from thee.

But joy comes at length to all hearts that believed,
And the sighs of the saints must at last end in
song;^
The best gifts of God fall to those who have grieved,
And His love is the stronger for waiting so long.

Oh blest be the day when old earth bore its fruit,
The fairest of daughters it ever had seen,
In the village that lies at the white mountain foot,
And the angels sang songs to the young Naza-
rene!

Mid the carols of shepherds, the bleating of sheep.
The joy of that birth, blessed Anne! came to
thee,
When the fruits were grown golden, the grapes
blushing deep.
In the fields and the orchards of green Galilee.

Since creation, was ever such gladness as thine,
To whom God's chosen Mother as Daup:hter was
given?
O her beautiful eyes, dearest Anne, how they shine,
And the sound of her voice is like music from
heaven!

Why was it thy heart did not break Avith excess
Of a joy that was harder than sorrow to bear?
Perchance had thine earlier sorrows been less,
Thou couldst not have lived with a vision so fair.

Like a presence of God in thy home's hallowed
bound,
Like a pageant of heaven all day was she seen;
And didst thou not see how the ano;els throno;ed
round,
All amazed at the sight of their infantine Queen?

She was crowned even then, like a creature apart.
The child God had called to be Mother aud Maid;
Didst thou watch how the fountains of blood in her
heart.
Like the founta,ins in Sion, incessantly played?

O Anne! from that blood the Creator will take
The Flesh that shall save the lost tribes of our race;
And His wonderful love the Eternal will slake
At thy child's sinless heart, at those fountains of
grace.

O Anne! joyous Saint! what a life didst thou live.
What an unbroken brightness of innocent bliss!
Every touch of thy child a fresh rapture could give,
And yet didst thou not kneel ere thou daredst to
kiss?

And we too, glad mother! are gay with thy mirth,
For he who loves Mary in mirth ever lives;
There is brightness and goodness all over the earth,
For the souls Mary welcomes and Jesus forgives.

Yes! gladness makes holy the poor heart of man;
It lightens lifers sorrows, it softens its smarts;
Oh be with thy children, then, dearest Saint Anne,
For Mary thy child is the joy of our hearts.