THE HOLY LADY.


Oh, Heaven hath given to earth some souls,
Of rarest loveliness,
Whose being's constant current rolls,
The wretched still to bless.

Well wishing Heaven hath given to earth,
Some hearts of purest fire,
To renovate our sinful birth,
And raise our low desire.

The Holy Lady did not go
Afar, by sea or land,
But ministered to sighing wo,
And suffering near at hand.

'Twas sweet to see the Lady fair,
Each blessed sabbath morn,
Wear such a sweetly solemn air,
Of bright devotion, born.

'Twas sweet to see her bow at eve,
On lowly bended knee,
To pray, and sadly, sweetly grieve,