The seas will rise though saints on board
Commend their frail skiff to the Lord.
And Bega and her holy band
Are shipwrecked on the Cumbrian strand.
"Give me," she asked, "for me and mine,
O Lady of high Bretwalda's line!
Give, for His sake who succoured thee,
A shelter for these maids and me."--
Then sew'd, and spun, and crewl-work wrought,[3]
And served the poor they meekly taught,
These virgins good; and show'd the road
By blameless lives to Heaven and God.
They won from rude men love and praise;
They lived unmoved through evil days;
And only longed for a home to rise
To store up treasures for the skies.
That pious wish the Lady's bower
Has reached; and forth she paced the tower:--
"My gracious Lord! of thy free hand
Grant this good Saint three roods of land.
"Three roods, where she may rear a pile,
To sing God's praise through porch and aisle;
And, serving Him, us too may bless
For sheltering goodness in distress."
The Earl he turned him gaily near,
Laughed lightly in his Lady's ear--
"By this bright Eve of blessed St. John!
I'll give--what the snow to-morrow lies on."
His Lady roused him at dawn with smiles--
"The snow lies white for miles and miles!"
From loophole and turret he stares on the sight
Of Midsummer-morning clothed in white.
"--Well done, good Saint! the lands are thine.
Go, build thy church, and deck thy shrine.
I 'bate no jot of my plighted word,
Though lightly spoken and lightly heard.
"If mirth and my sweet Lady's grace
Have lost me many a farm and chace,
I know that power unseen belongs
To holy ways and Christian songs.
"And He, who thee from wind and wave
Deliverance and a refuge gave,
When we must brave a gloomier sea,
May hear thy prayers for mine and me."