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THE PURIFICATION.
O Infant God! O Christ!
O Light most beautiful! Thou comest, Joy of Joys !
All darkness to annul; And brightest lights of earth
Beside Thy Light are dull.
O Mary ! bear him quick
Into His temple gate, For poor impatient souls
His healing sunrise wait; And pay His price that He
May be emancipate.
Yes! thou wilt set Him free;
He will be wholly ours, To lighten every soul
In earth's benighted bowers, Undoing Adam's curse,
And turning thorns to flowers.
Ah ! with what thrills of awe The Mother's heart is teeming,
To think the newborn light
That o'er the world is streaming,
At His own Mother's hands
Should stoop to need redeeming. |
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