CORPUS CHRISTI
Now Thou hast come to the end of Thy pilgrimage, Lord;
Thy lamp glows red like a star at the dim lane’s turning:
The bread and the wine of Thy supper are set in the shadows,
And the gleam of Thy cottage calls toilers and wanderers home.
In the feathery green of the hedges the chervil is blooming—
Petals and wafers of scent, like the Host in a dream....
The night wind is singing the Mass of Thy living and dying,
O Pilgrim of Love, Who at last hast come to Thy shrine.
Thou art at peace. At Thy journey’s end Thou sittest,
Thy cheek on Thy folded hands, before Thee the bread and wine,
While far down the sky the yellow moon dips to her dying,
And the big stars hang like lamps in the fading west.
Lord of the journey’s end, if I too should stumble
At last to the long lane’s turning, there may I see
The beckon and gleam of the lamp that is hung in Thy cottage,
Calling me home to my supper, my friends, and sleep.
The Saints sup with Thee, there in the dusk and lamplight—
Mary and Joseph and Peter and all my friends—
With faces propped on their tired and toil-worn fingers,
And kind eyes full of the peace of the journey’s end.
To that feast of the Saints in Light, dear Lord, please bring me,
Wash my dusty feet as on Maundy long ago;
At the end of the day let me find my Lord at supper,
And forget my toils with Him in the Breaking of Bread.
THE CONCEPTION
B.V.M.
Anna’s Voice:
Down by the rushes I paused and bent—
I bent with a sudden lovely pang of joy,
And I knew that my hope was true....
Lord God of our fathers, if Thou send me a son
He shall be bred in Thy fear,
But if Thou send me a daughter
She shall be bred in Thy love.
Lord, I pray Thee, send me a girl.
LADY DAY IN HARVEST
A LULLABY FOR THE FALLING ASLEEP OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY
❦
MARY sleeps—and as she sleeps the
angels sing:
Sleep, sleep, sweetly sleep,
Sweetly sleep, sleep, sleep,
You who rocked the cradle—so—
In the stable long ago.
Golden Rose of David’s stem,
Sleep, and dream of Bethlehem;
Dream of herald angels singing,
Dream of Christmas bells a-ringing
In the steeples of the town,
Telling of the Christ come down
To a stable long ago;
Dream in harvest of the snow;
Dream His head is on your breast,
Then, smiling, sleep and take your rest—
Golden Rose of David’s stem,
Sleep and dream of Bethlehem.
MARY sleeps—and as she sleeps her
Son sings:
Sleep, sleep, sweetly sleep,
Sweetly sleep, sleep, sleep:
You rocked the cradle once for Me,
Mother of sweet liberty;
And now I sing your lullaby,
While angels watch us from the sky,
And the August stars are bright
In the dark, hop-scented night.
Rest, darling mother, rest
With your head upon My breast,
For all the hundred happy hours
That My head has lain on yours.
Mother whose hair is grey with love,
With memories of Calvary’s day....
Darling, in the fields above
The young angels wait to play,
And all the holy innocents,
Who once laid down their lives for Me,
Will climb into your lap and lie
Where once I lay so lovingly.
Rest, darling mother, rest
With your head upon My breast.
MARY sleeps—and as she sleeps we
all sing:
Sleep, sleep, mother, sleep,
Sweetly sleep, sleep, sleep;
On His bosom lay your head,
While the angels watch your bed,
And the August stars are red—
Little mother of joy divine,
Little mother of purity,
Sweet mother of eternity—
(You our mother and He our Brother);
So shall heaven’s windows shine
With lights of home, burning softly down,
On your children on their way
To your door—until the day
When we reach our native town:
And our hands shall knock, and yours unlatch,
And we shall come home to you under the thatch—
To you our mother, to Him our Brother,
So shall we love you and Him and each other.
Little mother of joy divine,
From your window in heaven look down,
And light the way to our native town.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.