eology
and a worship; a theology which has its own method of teaching, its own
ways of representation, its own devout discoveries, its own varying
opinions, all of which are beautiful so long as they are in
subordination to the mind of the Church.... Art is a revelation from
heaven, and a mighty power for God. It is a merciful disclosure to men
of His more hidden beauty. It brings out things in God which lie too
deep for words.' (_Bethlehem_, p. 240.)

It was a satisfaction to find my reading of this incomparable picture
powerfully endorsed by one who, more perhaps than any living writer, has
made good his claim to be regarded with the reverence that belongs to a
scribe instructed in the things of the spiritual kingdom, bringing forth
from his treasure things new and old. I quote the following passage from
Canon Westcott's weighty contribution to the discussion of a subject
second to none in interest and importance--'The Relation of Christianity
to Art:' 'In the _Madonna di San Sisto_ Raffaelle has rendered the idea
of Divine motherhood and Divine Sonship in intelligible forms. No one
can rest in the individual figures. The tremulous fulness of emotion in
the face of the Mother, the intense, far-reaching gaze of the Child,
constrain the beholder to look beyond. For him too the curtain is drawn
aside; he feels that there is a fellowship of earth with heaven and of
heaven with earth, and understands the meaning of the attendant Saints
who express the different aspects of this double communion.' (_Epistles
of S. John_, p. 358.)

I will only add some beautiful words of Mrs. Jameson, which also I had
not seen when my verses were written: 'I have seen my own ideal once,
and only once, attained: there, where Raffaelle--inspired if ever
painter was inspired--projected on the space before him that wonderful
creation which we style the _Madonna di San Sisto_; for there she
stands--the transfigured woman--at once completely human and completely
divine, an abstraction of power, purity, and love, poised on the
empurpled air, and requiring no other support; looking out with her
melancholy, loving mouth, her slightly dilated, sibylline eyes, quite
through the universe, to the end and consummation of all things; sad, as
if she beheld afar off the visionary sword that was to reach her heart
through Him, now resting as enthroned on that heart; yet already exalted
through the homage of the redeemed generations who were to salute her as