"Take, I pray, yon chaplet up, * thrown down ruddied from his head."
They took the roseal chaplet up, * and they stood astonished:
Every leaf between their fingers, * as they bruised it, burst and
bled.

"See his torn flesh through those rents; * see the punctures round
his hair,
As if the chaplet-flowers had driven * deep roots in to nourish
there -
Lord, who gav'st him robe and wreath, * WHAT was this Thou gav'st
for wear?"

"Fetch forth the Paradisal garb!" * spake the Father, sweet and low;
Drew them both by the frightened hand * where Mary's throne made
irised bow -
"Take, Princess Mary, of thy good grace, * two spirits greater than
they know."



EPILOGUE



Virtue may unlock hell, or even
A sin turn in the wards of Heaven,
(As ethics of the text-book go),
So little men their own deeds know,
Or through the intricate melee
Guess whitherward draws the battle-sway;