Bethlehem’s Queen.
“And going into the house, they found the Child with Mary, his Mother.”—Matt. iii, 11.
O what would this life be without our sweet Mother?
—A desert divested of well-springs and trees,
A land without music, light, fragrance, or flowers,
A black, sultry night, without moonlight or breeze!
No solace for souls in their struggles with Satan,
No hope for the sinner engulf’d in despair,
No light for the saint in his doubts and temptations,
No stronghold of peace in a world full of care;
Dear Cause of our joy! bearing Bliss in thy bosom,
Clear Mirror of justice! resplendent with light,
Rare Mystical Rose! in thy glory a-blossom,
Fair Star of the morning! dispelling our night,—
Tho’ all the foul fiends of the regions infernal
Assail the sad spirit with clamorous din;
Tho’ earth and the earthy obscure the Eternal,
And Life’s brightest promise be blighted by sin,—
What bliss but to feel the cool print of thy sandal
On fiery promptings and passions aglow;
To nestle, like birds, ’neath thy sky-color’d mantle,
And calm our hot hearts on thy bosom of snow!
What bliss thro’ the darkness, the heat, and the clamor,
To fly to thy feet, to thy virginal shrine,—
And there, in thy presence, releas’d from Sin’s glamor,
Drink in deepest draughts of thy spirit divine!
O drear would our life be without this fair Flower,
This Lily of Israel, blooming alone!
Sweet Christ! how we bless Thee for Bethlehem’s dower,
Which made Thy pure Mother forever our own!