THE MONTH OF MARY

SONG

Green are the leaves, and sweet the flowers, And rich the hues of May;

We see them in the gardens round,

And market-paniers gay:

And e'en among our streets, and lanes,
And alleys, we descry,

By fitful gleams, the fair sunshine,

The blue transparent sky.

CHORUS

O Mother maid, be thou our aid,
Now in the opening year;

Lest sights of earth to sin give birth,
And bring the tempter near.

Green is the grass, but wait awhile,
'Twill grow, and then will wither;
The flowrets, brightly as they smile,
Shall perish altogether:

The merry sun, you sure would say,
It ne'er could set in gloom;
But earth's best joys have all an end,
And sin, a heavy doom.

CHORUS

But Mother maid, thou dost not fade;
With stars above thy brow,

And the pale moon beneath thy feet,
For ever throned art thou.

The green green grass, the glittering grove,
The heaven's majestic dome,
They image forth a tenderer bower,

A more refulgent home;

They tell us of that Paradise

Of everlasting rest,

And that high Tree, all flowers and fruit,

The sweetest, yet the best.

CHORUS

O Mary, pure and beautiful,
Thou art the Queen of May;

Our garlands wear about thy hair,
And they will ne'er decay.

VALENTINE TO A LITTLE GIRL

Little maiden, dost thou pine
For a faithful Valentine?
Art thou scanning timidly

Every face that meets thine eye?
Art thou fancying there may be
Fairer face than thou dost see?
Little maiden, scholar mine,
Wouldst thou have a Valentine?

Go and ask, my little child,
Ask the Mother undefiled:
Ask, for she will draw thee near,
And will whisper in thine ear:—
"Valentine! the name is good;
For it comes of lineage high,
And a famous family :
And it tells of gentle blood,
Noble blood,-and nobler still,
For its owner freely pour'd
Every drop there was to spill

In the quarrel of his Lord.
Valentine! I know the name,
Many martyrs bear the same;

And they stand in glittering ring

Round their warrior God and King,

Who before and for them bled,—
With their robes of ruby red,
And their swords of cherub flame."

Yes! there is a plenty there,

Knights without reproach or fear,—
Such St. Denys, such St. George,
Martin, Maurice, Theodore,

And a hundred thousand more;
Guerdon gain'd and warfare o'er,

By that sea without a surge,
And beneath the eternal sky,

And the beatific Sun,

In Jerusalem above,

Valentine is every one;

Choose from out that company

Whom to serve and whom to love.

FROM "THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS”

Take me away, and in the lowest deep
There let me be,

And there in hope the lone night-watches keep,
Told out for me.

There, motionless and happy in my pain,
Lone, not forlorn,-

There will I sing my sad perpetual strain,
Until the morn.

There will I sing, and soothe my stricken breast,
Which ne'er can cease

To throb, and pine, and languish, till possest
Of its Sole Peace.

There will I sing my absent Lord and Love:—
Take me away,

That sooner I may rise, and go above,

And see Him in the truth of everlasting day.