he shewed
How these high virtues, ere to man consigned,
Were warmed and moulded in the God-Man's heart;
Thence born, and in its sacred blood baptized.
'What are these virtues but the life of Christ?
The poor in spirit; must not they be lowly
Whose God is One that stooped to wear our flesh?
The meek; was He not meek Whom sinners mocked?
The mourners; sent not He the Comforter?
Zeal for the good; was He not militant?
The merciful; He came to bring us mercy;
The pure in heart; was He not virgin-born?
Peacemakers; is not He the Prince of Peace?
Sufferers for God; He suffered first for man.
O Virtues blest by Christ, high doctrines ye!
Dread mysteries; royal records; standards red
Wrapped by the warrior King, His warfare past,
Around His soldiers' bosoms! Recognise,
O man, that majesty in lowness hid!
Put on Christ's garments. Fools shall call them rags--
Heed not their scoff! A prince's child is man,
Born in the purple; but his royal robes
None other are than those the Saviour dyed,
Treading His Passion's wine-press all alone:
Of such alone be proud!'
The old man paused;
Then stretched his arms abroad, and said: 'This day,
Like eight great angels making way from Heaven,
Each following each, those Eight Beatitudes,
Missioned to earth by Him who made the earth,
Have sought you out! What welcome shall be theirs?'
In silence long he stood; in silence watched,
With faded cheek now flushed and widening eyes,
The advance of those high tidings. As a man
Who, when the sluice is cut, with beaming gaze
Pursues the on-rolling flood from fall to fall,
Green branch adown it swept, and showery spray
Silvering the berried copse, so followed Bede
The progress of those high Beatitudes
Brightening, with visible beams of faith and love,
That host in ampler circles, speechless some
And some in passionate converse. Saddest brows
Most quickly caught, that hour, the glory-touch,
Reflected it the best.
In such discourse,
Peaceful and glad the hours went by, though Bede
Had sought that valley less to preach the Word
Than see once more his children. Evening nigh
He shared their feast; and heard with joy like theirs
Their village harp; and smote that harp himself.
In turn become their scholar