The Handmaid of
Lowliest of women, and most
FELICIA D. HEMANS
In thy still beauty, sitting calm and lone:
A brightness round thee grew; and by thy
Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone,
Solemn, yet breathing gladness.
From her throne a queen had risen with
A stately prophetess of victory
From her proud lyre had struck a tempest's
For such high tidings as to thee were
Chosen of Heaven, that hour: but thou, O
E'en as a flower with gracious rains o'er
Thy Virgin head beneath its crown didst
And take to thy meek breast the All-holy
And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord.