IV.

As said Lacordaire, of the rosary, That love must ever its own speech repeat That, ever murmured, groweth e’er more sweet, So, seeking long some gift to bring to thee On this high day that keeps thy years of gold— Some thought that shall heart’s dearest service prove— Find I but one e’er-echoing word of love That doth all else I seek most fair enfold. Too great thy deeds for my poor verse to tell That need the Tuscan’s speech of Paradise; Even to think them, tears are in my eyes And sorrow stifles the _Te Deum’s_ swell— Tears for so dear a feast seem gift unkind, But love in every falling bead is shrined.