Our Lady
of Many Dreams





We pray to God, and to God it seems
Our prayers go heavenward;
But She, our Lady of many Dreams,
Keepeth a secret guard,
And by virtue of every vow we vowed,
And by every oath we sware,
Is all our worship disallowed,
And She taketh toll of the prayer.
God is above, but She below,
Instant and very fair.

[We praye to God, and to God it seemes
Our prayers goe up on hie.
But Shee-our Ladye of many dreames
Heareth them presently;
For eache of us guards her secretlie
And should never question where—
We would lie, till the stars dropt out of the skie
And the face of Heaven was bare—
God is above and shee below
Instante & very faire]

And the stroke of the sword is Hers by right,
And every stroke of the pen,
And the brain and the tongue and the muscles' might,
For She ruleth divers men;
And the brutal strength is consecrate
To Her service and Her will,
And the writer labours early and late,
And the felon doeth ill.
God is above, but She below,
That we labour, or write, or kill.

[And hers is the hardest houre of strife
Either by Lande or Sea,
And hers the bitterest houre in life
And hers, our miserie—
But hers is that houre after the fraye,
And hers the peace of the dawne
And hers the endinge of the daye,
And for her is the Noone's heat borne
And for her do we take the ploughe or the pen,
And for her is the armour wome]

Ina secret shrine, far out of sight,
Seen by no other eyes,
Lieth our Lady day and night
(Marvellous fair and wise);
For Her shrine is set in a heart's red throne
By our pulse's fall and rise,
And we pray to Her, and to Her is known
All good that in us lies.
God is above, but She below
Compelleth our destinies.

Whether our Lady be gently bred,
Or sprung of the city's sin;
Whether Her dress be silk or thread,
Or Her cheeks be full or thin;
Whether Her hair be black or gold,
Or brown, or blanched, or grey;
Whether our Lady be young or old,
Is only one that can say—
And he is both Priest and Worshipper
Whose eyes are turned on my lay!