Hopkins imagines hope as a woman holding the mind out like a mirror, trying to catch Christ’s lovely likeness. She’s never content with the reflection and keeps working to burnish it brighter. She washes the glass with her own tears and sighs away every smudge. The speaker describes how those welling tears and “sighs on sighs” only cloud the surface. Yet the mirror is blessed — it drinks in light — but hope stands behind it, squinting in the dark, her hand aching, completely unaware of the radiance already gathering there. In fact, she’s as good as blind, holding on until her hand aches and wondering what is there. The closing couplet admits it directly: between her efforts, she turns the mirror dim because she ends up seeing only herself. The mood is tender and rueful, alive to the paradox that our most fervent spiritual striving can leave us blind to the grace we seek. Hopkins doesn’t scold; he simply notes with gentle sadness how hope’s earnest work undoes itself.
Hope Holds to Christ — Summary
. . . . . . . . Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out To take His lovely likeness more and more. It will not well, so she would bring about An ever brighter burnish than before And turns to wash it from her welling eyes And breathes the blots off all with sighs on sighs. Her glass is blest but she as good as blind Holds till hand aches and wonders what is there; Her glass drinks light, she darkles down behind, All of her glorious gainings unaware. . . . . . . . . I told you that she turned her mirror dim Betweenwhiles, but she sees herself not Him. . . . . . . . .