O harp, that sat upon King David’s knee
As Jesus rested on His mother’s lap,
Was thy wood taken from the selfsame tree
Where Love would later bleed our human sap?
Thy lays prefigured Mary’s God-tuned heart,
Her finer resonance, her softer tone,
The diapason of Perfection’s art,
The star-born music that is hers alone.
O sweeter harp, that only One hath played,
Evoking purest passions from thy cords,
O instrument that Truth Himself hath made,
May thy celestial strains inspire my words!
That they should ring, with sonorous conceit,
To praise my King, enthroned on Widsom’s Seat.
From Sonnets for Heaven’s Queen © Joseph Charles MacKenzie. All rights reserved.