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 And taught me first the simple prayer: "To thee, Poor banished sons of Eve, we send our cries." Through mist of years, those words recall to me A childish face upturned to loving eyes.

And yet, to some the name of Mary bears No special meaning and no gracious power; In that dear word they seek for hidden snares, As wasps find poison in the sweetest flower.

But faithful hearts can see, o'er doubts and fears, The Virgin-link that binds the Lord to earth; Which, to the upturned trusting face, appears Greater than angel, though of human birth.

The sweet-faced moon reflects, on cheerless night, The rays of hidden sun that rise to-morrow; So, unseen God still lets his promised light, Through holy Mary, shine upon our sorrow.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Night in the far Judean land, The pregnant air is still, The sky one blue unclouded band, Seems drooping o'er each hill. The hills then toward each other bend, Some mighty secret to portend. Gloria in excelsis Deo.