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 Ah! time has fled, and friends have failed,
 * And joys have died; but in my needs
 * Ye were my friends, my blessed beads!

And ye consoled me when I wailed.

For many and many a time, in grief.
 * My weary fingers wandered round
 * Thy circled chain, and always found

In some Hail Mary sweet relief.

How many a story ye might tell
 * Of inner life to all unknown;
 * I trusted you and you alone.

But ah! ye keep my secrets well.

Ye are the only chain I wear—
 * A sign that I am but the slave.
 * In life, in death, beyond the grave

Of Jesus and His Mother fair.”

The Rosary has been productive of marvelous fruits in the Church of God. It was the powerful weapon that St. Dominic used so successfully against the pestilential heresy of the Albigensians; it has accounted for the manifold graces of conversion that have accompanied the preaching of zealous missionaries; it has been one of the secrets of Ireland's constant fidelity to the faith that Patrick planted on her soil. The bright light of faith has