Elements ever
Knew how to seize at length,

Angels could never
Link’d twofold natures move,

Where single-hearted;
By nought but deathless love

Can they be parted.

The younger angels.

See where a spirit-race

Bursts on the sight! 
Dimly their forms I trace

Round the far height. 
Each cloud becometh clear,
While the bright troops appear

Of the blest boys,

From the Earth’s burden free,
In a glad company

Drinking in joys,
Born of the world above,

Springtime and bliss. 
May they forerunners prove
Of a more perfect love,

Link’d on to this!

The beatified children.

Thus as a chrysalis

Gladly we gain him,
And as a pledge of bliss

Safely retain him;
When from the shell he’s free

Whereby he’s tainted,
Perfect and fair he’ll be,

Holy and sainted.

Doctor Marinas. 
(In the highest, purest cell.)

Wide is the prospect here,

Raised is the soul;
Women on high appear,

Seeking their goal.

’Mongat them the radiant one,

Queen of the skies,
In her bright starry crown

Greets my glad eyes.

(With ecstasy.)

Thou who art of earth the queen.

Let me, ’neath the blue
Heav’nly canopy serene

Thy sweet mystery view! 
Grant the gentle solemn force

Which the breast can move. 
And direct our onward course

Tow’rd thy perfect love. 
Dauntless let our courage be,

At thy bright behest;
Mild our ardour suddenly,

When thou bidd’st us rest. 
Virgin, type of holiness,

Mother, honour-crown’d,
Thou whom we as queen confess,

Godlike and renowned.

Round her, in gentle play,

Light clouds are stealing;
Penitents fair are they,

Who, humbly kneeling,
Sip in the ether sweet,
 As they for grace entreat.

Thou, who art from passions free,

Kindly art inclin’d,
When the sons of frailty

Seek thee, meek in mind.

Borne by weakness’ stream along,

Hard it is to save them;
Who can burst lust’s chains so strong,

That, alas, enslave them? 
O how soon the foot may slip,

When the smooth ground pressing! 
O, how false are eye and lip,

False a breath caressing!

MaterGLORLOSA hovers past.

Chorus of penitent women.

To bring realms on high

In majesty soaring,
O, hark to our cry

Thy pity imploring,
Thou help to the cheerless,
In glory so peerless!

Magna PECCATRIX (St. Luke vii. 36).