In quiet fields beyond the town, near where the river flows
There is a humble garden where a gentle rose-tree grows.
To-night Our Lord remembers on the altar of repose
This rose-tree in the fields afar, the mother of the rose.
THE TRANSFIGURATION
By James M. Hayes
He seeks the mountains where the olives grow,
The Lord of Glory, veiled in humble guise;
His soul is shadowed with a coming woe,
The grief of all the world is in His eyes: