be expected that our grasp upon the truths which are enshrined in such devotion will be feeble, and that we shall hold them as of small moment?  The whole system of Catholic thought is so nicely articulated, so consistently held together, that failure to hold even the smallest constituent indicates a faulty conception of the whole.  Catholics are constantly accused of over-stressing devotion to blessed Mary and the saints and thereby encroaching upon the honour due to our Lord.  The answer to the reproach is to be found in the question:  Who to-day are defending to the very death the truth of our Lord’s Incarnation and the truths that hang upon it?  Are they those who deny the legitimacy of invocation, or those in whose religious practise it holds an important and vital place?

     A PANEGYRICK ON THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY.

     I do not tremble, when I write
     A Mistress’ praise, but with delight
     Can dive for pearls into the flood,
     Fly through every garden, wood,
     Stealing the choice of flow’rs and wind,
     To dress her body or her mind;
     Nay the Saints and Angels are
     Nor safe in Heaven, till she be fair,
     And rich as they; nor will this do,
     Until she be my idol too. 
     With this sacrilege I dispense,
     No fright is in my conscience,
     My hand starts not, nor do I then
     Find any quakings in my pen;
     Whose every drop of ink within
     Dwells, as in me my parent’s sin,
     And praises on the paper wrot
     Have but conspired to make a blot: 
     Why should such fears invade me now
     That writes on her? to whom do bow
     The souls of all the just, whose place
     Is next to God’s, and in his face
     All creatures and delights doth see
     As darling of the Trinity;
     To whom the Hierarchy doth throng,
     And for whom Heaven is all one song. 
     Joys should possess my spirit here,
     But pious joys are mixed with fear: 
     Put off thy shoe, ’tis holy ground,
     For here the flaming Bush is found,
     The mystic rose, the Ivory Tower,
     The morning Star and David’s bower,
     The rod of Moses and of Jesse,
     The fountain sealed, Gideon’s fleece,
     A woman clothed with the Sun,
     The beauteous throne of Salomon,
     The garden shut, the living spring,
     The Tabernacle of the King,
     The Altar breathing sacred fume,
     The Heaven distilling honeycomb,
     The untouched lily, full of dew,
     A Mother, yet a Virgin too,
     Before and after she brought forth
     (Our ransom of eternal worth)
     Both God and man.  What voice can sing
     This mystery, or Cherub’s wing
     Lend from his golden stock a pen
     To write, how Heaven came down to men? 
     Here fear and wonder so advance
     My soul, it must obey a trance.

PART TWO