Where, to my bliss, myself may meet
One hastening with piercèd feet.
OUR LADY’S DEATH
By Father Edmund, C.P.
And didst thou die, dear Mother of our Life?
Sin had no part in thee; then how should death?
Methinks, if aught the great tradition saith
Could wake in loving hearts a moment’s strife
(I said—my own with her new image rife),
’Twere this. And yet ’tis certain, next to faith