To One Consecrated

YOUR paths were all unknown to us:
We were so far away from you:
We mixed in thought your spirit thus—
With whiteness, stars of gold, and dew.

The Mighty Mother nourished you;
Her breath blew from her mystic bowers;
Their elfin glimmer floated through
The pureness of your shadowy hours.

The Mighty Mother made you wise,
Gave love that clears the hidden ways;
Her glooms were glory to your eyes,
Her darkness but the fount of days.

You with all gentleness she graced,
And beauty radiant as the morn’s:
She made our joy in yours, then placed
Upon your head a crown of thorns.

Your eyes are filled with tender light
For those whose eyes are dim with tears:
They see your brow is crowned and bright,
But not its ring of wounding spears.