Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown,
Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.

* * * * *

MAURICE HEALY

IN MEMORIAM

“Lord, teach us how to pray,” they said;
And Jesus raised His weary head,
Bowed by the sorrows of the way,
And taught His children how to pray.

“Lord, teach me how to pray,” I cried;
And Jesus sent you to my side
To make your own the soul I wear
And mould it purer into prayer.

And since your love first lit the way
I find that I have learned to pray;
For, that my soul may benefit,
I pray that you may pray for it.

A BALLAD OF FRIENDSHIP

for two most dear Children

Soured and dimmed and chilled with senility
  Hobbled the year to its uttermost day;
I gave the best of a slender ability,
  Seeking to make a short afternoon gay. 
You were both claimed ere the sky was grey
  Over the tips of the western towers;
Yet, as you went, you had time to say,
  “This is no stranger:  we name him ours!”

Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy—­
  Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong,
Tales of terror and tears to redundancy;
  What is the score of my slavery’s wrong? 
Surely where pleasures so freely throng
  Some sad fiend of unhappiness lowers;
Or is the refrain of Good Fortune’s song,
  “This is no stranger:  we name him ours”?

When you enfranchised me into your mystery,
  Lovingly stealing the sorrows I had,
Wisdom came with you; the old sad history
  Glowed; and I knew in my heart why the sad
And outcast Lord grew suddenly glad
  As the children thronged to crown Him with flowers,
When their cry was voiced by some tiny lad,
  “This is no Stranger:  we name Him ours!”

L’ENVOI.

So do I thank you; and if some day
  You in your gained Paradisal bowers
Hear me knocking, be bold to pray,
  “This is no stranger:  we claim him ours!”

IN THE MIDST OF THEM

“Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look on me, a little child.  Pity my simplicity And suffer me to come to Thee.”

Now prevails a creed which tells
Us to seek no miracles. 
Reason by discovered lore
Reigns where Faith was found before. 
God, Who set our world aspin,
Now is weary of its din;
He, Who for our fathers’ sake
Conjured lightning and earthquake,
Vanquished sorrow, sickness, death,
Deems we are not worth the Breath
That blessed the trusting prophet’s rod
When Moses called upon his God. 
How dare we expect Him give
Miracles to help us live?