THE PRESEPIO.
| By thy great and glorious merit, Mary, Mother, Maid! In thy firstling, new-born child All our life is laid. That sweet smiling infant child, Born for us, I wis; That majestic baby mild, Yield him to our kiss! Clasping and embracing him, We shall drink of bliss. Who could crave a deeper joy?— Purer none was made. For thy beauteous baby boy We a-hungered burn; Yea, with heart and soul of grace Long for him and yearn. Grant us then this prayer; his face Toward our bosom turn: Let him keep us in his care, On his bosom stayed! Mary, in the manger where Thou hast strewn his nest, With thy darling baby we Fain would dwell at rest Those who cannot take him, see, Place him on their breast! Who shall be so rude and wild As to spurn thee, Maid? Come and look upon her child Nestling in the hay! See his fair arms opened wide, On her lap to play! And she tucks him by her side, Cloaks him as she may; Gives her paps unto his mouth, Where his lips are laid. For the little babe had drouth, Sucked the breast she gave; All he sought was that sweet breast, Broth he did not crave; With his tiny mouth he pressed, Tiny mouth that clave: Ah, the tiny baby thing, Mouth to bosom laid! She with left hand cradling Rocked and hushed her boy, And with holy lullabies Quieted her toy. Who so churlish but would rise To behold heaven's joy Sleeping?—In what darkness drowned, Dead and renegade?— Little angels all around Danced, and carols flung; Making verselets sweet and true, Still of love they sung; Calling saints and sinners too With love's tender tongue; Now that heaven's high glory is On this earth displayed. Choose we gentle courtesies, Churlish ways forswear; Let us one and all behold Jesus sleeping there. Earth, air, heaven he will unfold, Flowering, laughing fair; Such a sweetness, such a grace From his eyes hath rayed. O poor humble human race, How uplift art thou! With the divine dignity Re-united now! Even the Virgin Mary, she All amazed doth bow; And to us who sin inherit, Seems as though she prayed. By thy great glorious merit, Mary, Mother, Maid! In thy firstling, new-born child All our life is laid. |
