Within the Bethlehem of these poor hearts, The manger of our souls, O Prince of men! Come, in Thy pity, and be born again!-- Ere yet the golden Christmas-tide departs, Love, with its thousand sweet and tender arts, Shall emulate the Shepherds’ glowing zeal, Or, like the Magi from the Orient marts, Shall gold, and myrrh, and frankincense reveal. O Babe, so rich in Thy great poverty, Give us Detachment’s grand, divorcing grace! O Babe, sublime in Thy humility, Grant us, in Thee, all pride to self-abase! O suff’ring Babe, so blissful in Thy woe, A self-denying joy, on us, bestow! The God-Man. “Would I might be as God!” the first man cried, When, with forbidden fruits, Sin’s reign began.-- Lo! to repair the ruin wrought by Pride, Christ, in the manger, we behold as Man! Bethlehem’s Queen. “_And going into the house, they found the Child with Mary, his Mother._”--Matt. iii, 11. O what would this life be without our sweet Mother? --A desert divested of well-springs and trees, A land without music, light, fragrance, or flowers, A black, sultry night, without moonlight or breeze! [Illustration] No solace for souls in their struggles with Satan, No hope for the sinner engulf’d in despair, No light for the saint in his doubts and temptations, No stronghold of peace in a world full of care; [Illustration] Dear _Cause of our joy!_ bearing Bliss in thy bosom, Clear _Mirror of justice!_ resplendent with light, Rare _Mystical Rose!_ in thy glory a-blossom, Fair _Star of the morning!_ dispelling our night,-- [Illustration] Tho’ all the foul fiends of the regions infernal Assail the sad spirit with clamorous din; Tho’ earth and the earthy obscure the Eternal, And Life’s brightest promise be blighted by sin,-- [Illustration] What bliss but to feel the cool print of thy sandal On fiery promptings and passions aglow; To nestle, like birds, ’neath thy sky-color’d mantle, And calm our hot hearts on thy bosom of snow! [Illustration] What bliss thro’ the darkness, the heat, and the clamor, To fly to thy feet, to thy virginal shrine,-- And there, in thy presence, releas’d from Sin’s glamor, Drink in deepest draughts of thy spirit divine! [Illustration] O drear would our life be without this fair Flower, This Lily of Israel, blooming alone! Sweet Christ! how we bless Thee for Bethlehem’s dower, Which made Thy pure Mother forever our own! Transcriber’s Notes Italics are represented thus _italic_.