This rare tablet doth include
Poverty with Sanctitude.
Past midnight this poor maid hath spun,
Ahe work is not half done,
Which must supply from earnings st
A feeble bed-rid parents want.
Her sleep-charged eyes exemption ask
And Holy hands take up the task;
Uhe rod spindle ply,
And do her earthly drudgery.
Sleep, saintly poor one! sleep, sleep on;
And, waking, find they labours done.
Perce she knows it by her dreams;
Her eye hath caught the golden gleams,
Angelic preseestifying,
That round her everywhere are flying;
Ostents from which she may presume,
That much of heaven is in the room.
Skirting her own bright hair they run,
And to the sunny add more sun:
Now on that aged face they fix,
Streaming from the Crucifix;
The flesh-cloggd spirit disabusing,
Death-disarming sleeps infusing,
Prelibations, foretastes high,
And equal thoughts to live or die.
Gardener bright from Edens bower,
Tend with care that lily flower;
To its leaves and root infuse
Heavens sunshine, Heavens dews.
Tis a type, and tis a pledge,
Of a ing privilege.
Careful as that lily flower,
This Maid must keep her precious dower;
Live a sainted Maid, or die
Martyr tinity.