  A cloistered garden was the place Where Mary grew, God's perfect flower; One, only one, discerned her grace, And visited her bower. God's choice was his; by love made strong To guard the Mother of the King; No heart, save hers, had e'er a song So sweet as his to sing. No record of a word from him; God's Ark he guards, a silent sage, Pure as the Cherubim. But sweeter than the sweetest word Recorded of the wise and good, His silence is a music heard On high, and understood. Blessed are all who take their part Amid the carol-singing throng; Thrice blest the meditative heart Whose silence is a song. Ballachulish: 1884. |
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