THE NIGHTINGALE
By Gerald Griffin
As the mute nightingale in closest groves
Lies hid at noon, but when day’s piercing eye
Is locked in night, with full heart beating high
Poureth her plain-song o’er the light she loves;
So, Virgin Ever-pure and Ever-blest,
Moon of religion, from whose radiant face
Reflected streams the light of heavenly grace
On broken hearts, by contrite thoughts oppressed:
So, Mary, they who justly feel the weight
Of Heaven’s offended Majesty, implore
Thy reconciling aid with suppliant knee:
Of sinful man, O sinless Advocate,
To thee they turn, nor Him they less adore;
’Tis still His light they love, less dreadful seen in thee.