Sequence for St. Maximin
A dove peered in through latticed
window pane, and there before its face
the balsam dripped, distilled
from glinting Maximin.
The warmth of sun blazed up
and sparkled in the darkness—then a budding gem
sprang up within the temple’s court—
his kindly, cryst’lline heart.
A lofty tower, he,
of Libanus’ wood
and cypress,
with jacinth and with ruby set—
a city finer crafted than
the work of other craftsmen.
A stag so swift,
he raced to reach
the purest waters’ font
that flows from firmest stone
to water
spices sweet.
O crafters of perfume, of chrism spice,
who dwell amidst the sweet viridity
of the garden of the King, you mount on high
when the holy sacrifice
you have performed with rams.
Among you shines
this artisan—the temple’s wall who longed
for eagle’s wings to kiss
his nursemaid Wisdom
in Mother Church’s glorious fecundity.
O Maximin, both mount and vale,
in each a lofty shelter you appear
where mountain goat and elephant
together tread, and Wisdom relishes.
Both strong and sweet you are
in sacred rites, the altar’s radiance,
ascending like an incense cloud
unto the plinth of praise:
Where for the people now you intercede
who strive unto the mirror of that light
whose praise resounds on high!