348 
KEBLE. 
As when the Holy Maid beheld 
Her risen Son and Lord : 
Thought has not colors half so fair 
That she to paint that hour may dare, 
In silence best adored. 
The gracious Dove that brought from heaven 
The earnest of our bliss, 
Of many a chosen witness-telling, 
On many a happy vision dwelling, 
Sings not a note of this. 
So, truest image of the Christ, 
Old Israel’s long-lost son, 
What time, with sweet, forgiving cheer 
He called his conscious brethren near, 
Would weep with them alone. 
He could not trust his melting soul, 
But in his Maker’s sight,— 
Then why should gentle hearts and true 
Bare to the rude world’s withering view 
Their treasure of delight! 
No,—let the dainty rose awhile 
Her bashful fragrance hide— 
Rend not her silken veil too soon, 
But leave her, till her own soft noon, 
To flourish and abide. 
