For, born of winter snows, These fragile flowers Are gifts to our fair Queen From Spring’s first hours. For on this blessèd day She knelt at prayer; When, lo! before her shone An Angel fair. “Hail, Mary!” thus he cried, With reverent fear: She, with sweet wondering eyes, Marvelled to hear. Be still, ye clouds of Heaven! Be silent, Earth! And hear an Angel tell Of Jesus’ birth, While she, whom Gabriel hails As full of grace, Listens with humble faith In her sweet face. Be still,--Pride, War, and Pomp, Vain Hopes, vain Fears, For now an Angel speaks, And Mary hears. “Hail, Mary!” lo, it rings Through ages on; “Hail Mary!” it shall sound, Till Time is done “Hail, Mary!” infant lips Lisp it to-day; “Hail, Mary!” with faint smile The dying say. “Hail, Mary!” many a heart Broken with grief, In that angelic prayer Has found relief. And many a half-lost soul, When turned at bay, With those triumphant words Has won the day. “Hail, Mary, Queen of Heaven!” Let us repeat, And place our snowdrop wreath Here at her feet. OUR DAILY BREAD BY ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER Give us our daily Bread, O God, the bread of strength! For we have learnt to know How weak we are at length. As children we are weak, As children must be fed;-- Give us Thy Grace, O Lord, To be our daily Bread. Give us our daily Bread:-- The bitter bread of grief. We sought earth’s poisoned feasts For pleasure and relief; We sought her deadly fruits, But now, O God, instead, We ask thy healing grief To be our daily Bread. Give us our daily Bread To cheer our fainting soul; The feast of comfort, Lord, And peace, to make us whole: For we are sick of tears, The useless tears we shed;-- Now give us comfort, Lord, To be our daily Bread. Give us our daily Bread, The Bread of Angels, Lord, For us, so many times, Broken, betrayed, adored: His Body and His Blood;-- The feast that Jesus spread: Give Him--our life, our all-- To be our daily Bread! MY MARYLAND BY JAMES RYDER RANDALL The despot’s heel is on thy shore, Maryland! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle-queen of yore, Maryland, my Maryland! Hark to an exiled son’s appeal, Maryland! My Mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, my Maryland!