Our Christmas shall be rare at dawning there,
And each shall find his brother fair,
Like a little child within:
All hearts of the earth shall find new birth
And wake, no more to sin.




Look You, I'll Go Pray



Look you, I'll go pray,
My shame is crying,
My soul is gray and faint,
My faith is dying.
Look you, I'll go pray --
"Sweet Mary, make me clean,
Thou rainstorm of the soul,
Thou wine from worlds unseen."




At Mass



No doubt to-morrow I will hide