Then, poor and orphan'd though I prove,
Yet would I praise Thee, Lord, and love,
And learn of Mary's spotless Dove,

With moanings meek,
And soft wing gliding high above,

Thy Face to seek.



“ Sanctify a fast..gather the children, and those that suck the breasts.

'Tis said, the immortal Powers on high Might envy Saints on earth, for they can die ;

They for their Lord may suffer loss ; Those but adore, these taste, the healing Cross. So while in all beside, dear babe, we pine

For hope as pure as thine, One gift we have, one token more than thou, With choice of heart beneath the Saviour's yoke to bow.

No deep of joy to thee is lost
From Christmas, Easter, or bright Pentecost :

No memory-cloud in air, to dim
The unfolding heavens, or mar the Seraphs' hymn.

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The gladsome days are thine : to us are sent

The wan soft gleams of Lent,
The kindly waters from the heavens above,
From earth to be exhald in dews of tearful love.

Our portion in Christ's awful year,
Not thine, is Lent: and yet He calls thee near.

Come, spotless one, He seems to say,
Come with thy pure white robe, and kneel to-day
Beside the fallen and defil'd, and learn

How keen the fires must burn
Of the dread Spirit, purging contrite hearts
With penitential pains, Truth in the inward parts.

Oft have we mark'd thy wistful eye Fix'd upon ours when evil news came nigh,

As who should say, “My dreams are bright, Why should the cloud of woe on thee alight ?” Then sweeter grew thy smile, thy soft caress

Would closer seem to press, And for the woe, to thee yet unreveal'd, Pure balm of kindly hope thou didst unknowing yield.

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