Collected Poems

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P. J. Kenedy & sons, 1915 - American poetry - 261 pages
 

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Page 89 - O heart, for thy God! Dear little arms and sweet little hands, That stretch for thy mother, my God; Soft baby eyes to the mother's eyes; Melt, O heart, for thy God! Waxen touches on mother's heart, Fingers of the Babe, my God; Dear baby lips to her virgin breast, The virgin mother of God. The shepherds have come from the hills to adore The Babe in the manger, my God; Mary and Joseph welcome them there; Worship, O soul, thy God! But I alone may not come near The Babe in the manger, my God; Weep for...
Page 86 - Peace born of freedom's might, Peace sprung from the power of right, The peace of liberty ! Lift up the flag of high surprise To greet the gladdened eyes Of peoples far and near, The glorious harbinger Of earth's wide liberties, Streaming pure and clear In freedom's lofty atmosphere! Lift up our hearts to Him who made to shine In Heaven's arch the glorious sign Of mercy's heavenly birth To all the peoples of the earth, The pledge of peace divine! And let our glorious banner, too, The banner of the...
Page 30 - Ah me! Unworthy I to sing The stainless mother of my King, My King and Lord, The Incarnate Word, Heaven itself comprest Within her virgin breast! How may my faltering rhyme Sing of Eternity in time, Omnipotence in human frailty exprest, Our earthly garden fragrant with celestial thyme. What Muse, though great Urania guide her flight, May dare the sacrosanct and awful height Of that mysterious sublime Within the secret counsels of the Infinite! Omniscence there supreme and sole Clasps the beginning...
Page 88 - For the limbs of the Babe, my God; Soft little limbs on the cold, cold straw; Weep, O eyes, for thy God ! Bitter ye winds in the frosty night Upon the Babe, my God, Piercing the torn and broken thatch ; Lament, O heart, for thy God ! Bare is the floor, how bare, how bare For the Babe's sweet mother, my God; Only a stable for mother and Babe; How cruel thy world, my God ! Cast out, cast out, by his brother men Unknown the Babe, my God ; The ox and the ass alone are there; Soften, O heart, for thy...
Page 88 - Lament, O heart, for thy God! Bare is the floor, how bare, how bare For the Babe's sweet mother, my God; Only a stable for mother and Babe; How cruel thy world, my God! Cast out, cast out, by his brother men Unknown the Babe, my God; The ox and the ass alone are there; Soften, O heart, for thy God! Dear little arms and sweet little hands, That stretch for thy mother, my God; Soft baby eyes to the mother's eyes; Melt, O heart, for thy God!
Page 1 - For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, and she showeth herself to them cheerfully in the ways and meeteth them with all providence.
Page 88 - White as the radiant sun The whole earth shining on! THE BABE OF BETHLEHEM O cruel manger, how bleak, how bleak! For the limbs of the babe, my God; Soft little limbs on the cold, cold straw; Weep, O eyes, for thy God! Bitter ye winds in the frosty night Upon the Babe, my God, Piercing the torn and broken thatch; Lament, O heart, for thy God! Bare is the floor, how bare, how bare For the Babe's sweet mother, my God; Only a stable for mother and Babe; How cruel thy world, my God! Cast out, cast out,...
Page 32 - ... renovate, And all the elder worth renewed in her immaculate; Virgin and spouse of Him Who breathes the virtue of the Seraphim, Virgin and mother of the Eternal Son, Daughter, Virgin, Spouse in one! The spotless mate of spotless Dove, The one great miracle of God's love, From all eternity the chosen bride, Save only her none, none Exempt from sin's dominion; Save only her of Adam's race Or heavenly line, none full of grace; On her alone, on her alone The torrent of His love poured down The deep...
Page 1 - Wisdom is glorious and never fadeth away, and is easily seen by them that love her, and is found by them that seek her.
Page 111 - Before thy grisly front no man may stand; No heart but quakes at sounding of thy feet; Thy coming none may flee, though ne'er so fleet, And trembling earth confesses thy command. From kings their crowns thou pluck'st and from the hand Of Power its scepter; thou mock'st the vacant seat Of Pride or Love; nor high nor low degree may cheat Thee of thy tribute, Lord of sea and land. Dreadful art thou, and terrible thy power Against our piteous frailty doomed to die! Weakly we lift our fending hands in...

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