THE STORY.
Holy was good St. Joseph
When marrying Mary Mother,
Surely his lot was happy,
Happy beyond all other.
Refusing red gold laid down,
And the crown by David worn,
With Mary to be abiding
And guiding her steps forlorn.
One day when the twain were talking,
And walking through gardens early,
Where cherries were redly growing,
And blossoms were blowing rarely,
Mary the fruit desired,
For faint and tired she panted,
At the scent on the breezes' wing
Of the fruit that the King had planted.
Then spake to Joseph, the Virgin,
All weary and faint and low,
O pull me yon smiling cherries
That fair on the tree do grow,
"For feeble I am, and weary,
And my steps are but faint and slow,
And the works of the King of the graces
I feel within me grow."
Then out spake the good St. Joseph,
And stoutly indeed spake he,
"I shall not pluck thee one cherry,
Who art unfaithful to me.
"Let him come fetch thee the cherries,
Who is dearer than I to thee,"
Then Jesus, hearing St. Joseph,
Thus spake to the stately tree.
"Bend low in her gracious presence,
Stoop down to herself, O tree,
That My mother herself may pluck thee,
And take thy burden from thee."