IX.

Daily beneath His mother's eyes Her Lamb matured His lowliness: Twas hers the lovely Sacrifice With fillet and with flower to dress.

Beside His little cross He knelt; With human-heavenly lips He prayed: His Will within her will she felt; And yet His Will her will obeyed.

Gethsemane! when day is done Thy flowers with falling dews are wet: Her tears fell never; for the sun Those tears that brightened never set.

The house was silent as that shrine The priest but entered once a year. There shone His emblem. Light Divine! Thy presence and Thy power was here!