Poems (Kimball)/The Annunciation

by Harriet McEwen Kimball

THE ANNUNCIATION

(MARCH 25th)

OMARY, Maid of Nazareth,
Who hearest with suspended breath
The message mighty Gabriel
Brings to thy lowly virgin cell;

In silence and in solitude
Where saint nor seraph dare intrude,
Thou, truest handmaid of the Lord,
Dost hearken and receive the Word.

Then swiftly, but with awe-winged feet,
Thou goest forth from thy retreat
To her whose salutation still
Thrills Hebron's vale from hill to hill.

There first thy wonder turns to song
That all the ages shall prolong
Beyond the untold bounds of time,
In its humility sublime.

With God's supremest favor crowned,
 Pursuing still thy daily round
Of simple duties simply done,
Thou dost await the promised Son.

Dear Mother of the Lord's own choice,
He comes in whom thou dost "rejoice,"—
Thy Saviour and thy God, to be
Rocked as thy Babe upon thy knee.

O Mary, Maid of Nazareth,
Not only hath Elizabeth
Proclaimed thee "blessed;" from that day
"All generations" "blessed" say.

Yea, blessed as the instrument
Of the Almighty's vast intent;
And blessed in the purity
Wherewith His grace invested thee;

Blessed in meek obedience
That bowed to His omnipotence;
Blessed in thy surrendered will;
In perfect faith more blessed still;

Blessed in thy humility
That cast all earthly honors by—
The lofty pride of David's line—
To worship at thy Saviour's shrine.

Blessed of all His creatures thou
Whom with such grace He did endow
That all thy earthly life was spent
Like one unbroken sacrament.

Turn we, O Mary, from thy face
To praise Him for that wondrous grace,
And crave humility like thine
Obedient to the Will Divine.

The least in all Thy Kingdom, Lord,—
It is Thy own, Thy very word!—
The least may do Thy will, and be
Like her a follower of Thee.

Too wonderful it seems, indeed;
Thy Mother all Thy saints doth lead
Can such as we a place attain
In the long splendor of that train?