Those twelve years from Ascension
Until the day of meeting broke,
She was not so much all alone
As it might seem to common folk,
Because no day passed without bliss:
He gives Himself back to her kiss.
He comes no more in human guise,
Yet He is in their midst again.
His wounds are there in all men's eyes,
So doubting Thomas sees them plain;
They pour the Wine and break the Bread,
And the heart's hunger's comforted.
The Apostle takes the Cup of Wine,
The white Bread on the paten bright,
O Food of angels dear, divine!
The Lord of Life comes down in light,
And sweeter than the honeycomb
Rests in the heart that was His home.
Give place! His Mother's claim is first;
Her arms embrace her Son once more:
On the kind breast where He was nurst
He hath sweet ease as oft before.
Morn after morn, through the twelve years,
His love makes rapture of her tears.
She guards the youngling Church as once
She kept her small Son while He grew,
Safe sheltered from the winds and suns,
Comforted with soft rain and dew;
Till it's full-grown and she is free
For the long bliss that is to be.
