And you, poor stricken sons of grief,
Sad outcasts of this life,
Come, too, and seek a sure relief
For your heart's bitter strife;
Enter that village stable door,
And view that lowly cot--
Will it not teach you to endure,
And even bless your lot?




VIRGIN OF BETHLEHEM.


Virgin of Bethlehem! spouse of the Holy One!
Star of the pilgrim on life's stormy sea!
Humbler thy lot was than this world's most lowly one,
List to the prayers that we offer to thee!

Not for the joys that this false earth bestoweth,
Empty and fleeting as April sunshine,
But for the grace that from holiness floweth,
Grace, purest Mother, that always was thine.

Charity ardent, and zeal that abounded,
Thine was the will of thy Father above,
Thus thy life's fervor so strangely confounded
Cold hearts that mocked at religion's pure love.