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Mary s Roses
Of God, the most Holy
The handmaid so lowly,
We rise up and bless her
Because of her Son.
Blest in her beauty,
Surpassing her peers;
Blest in her glory,
Blest in her tears.
A spring within welling,
In her He is dwelling;
The mother is gladdened
Because of her Son.
She gathered the roses
In His garden grown;
Her joys and her sorrows
Were sprung from His own
No need for a portent
Or Angel to tell-
Small wonder she bore Him
Who knew Him so well.
And as she first guided
The steps that He trod,
He has taught us to gather
The roses of God.
Sr. Giles (C) 2006
Edited
05/12/2008
Br Andrew EFO |
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