So you who in His presence move and live Recall amid your glad celestial cares, Your chosen office, to your children give The charity of prayers. SORROW BY HELEN PARRY EDEN Of Sorrow, ’tis as Saints have said-- That his ill-savoured lamp shall shed A light to Heaven, when, blown about By the world’s vain and windy rout, The candles of delight burn out. Then usher Sorrow to thy board, Give him such fare as may afford Thy single habitation--best To meet him half-way in his quest, The importunate and sad-eyed guest. Yet somewhat should he give who took My hospitality, for look, His is no random vagrancy; Beneath his rags what hints there be Of a celestial livery. Sweet Sorrow, play a grateful part, Break me the marble of my heart And of its fragments pave a street 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 Thou didst lie down to render up thy breath: Though after the seventh sword, no meaner knife Could pierce that bosom. No, nor did: no sting Of pain was there; but only joy. The love, So long thy life ecstatic, and restrained From setting free thy soul, now gave it wing; Thy body, soon to reign with it above, Radiant and fragrant, as in trance, remained. VIGIL OF THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION BY MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN A sword of silver cuts the fields asunder-- A silver sword to-night, a lake in June-- And plains of snow reflect, the maples under, The silver arrows of a wintry noon. The trees are white with moonlight and with ice-pearls; The trees are white, like ghosts we see in dreams; The air is still: there are no moaning wind-whirls; And one sees silence in the quivering beams. December night, December night, how warming Is all thy coldness to the Christian soul: Thy very peace at each true heart is storming In potent waves of love that surging roll. December night, December night, how glowing Thy frozen rains upon our warm hearts lie: Our God upon this vigil is bestowing A thousand graces from the silver sky. O moon, O symbol of our Lady’s whiteness; O snow, O symbol of our Lady’s heart; O night, chaste night, bejewelled with argent brightness, How sweet, how bright, how loving, kind thou art. O miracle: to-morrow and to-morrow, In tender reverence shall no praise abate; For from all seasons shall we new jewels borrow To deck the Mother born Immaculate.