Classic Poem

All-Glorious shape that fleet'st wind-swept
Athwart the empurpled pine-girt steep,
That sinless from thy birth hast wept,
All-gladdening, till thy death must weep;

That in eterne ablution still
Thine innocence in shame dost shroud,
And washed where stain was none, dost fill
With light thy penitential cloud;

Illume with peace our glooming glen,
O'er-arch with hope yon distant sea,
To angels whispering and to men,
Of her whose lowlier sanctity

In God's all-cleansing freshness shrined
Renounced all pureness of her own,
And aye her lucent brow inclined,
God's " Hand-maid" meek, before his throne.