Song of Bernadette

Immaculate Mother, Queen of Peace,
Would your children might recall
The Rosary Song of Bernadette,
The loving care you have for all.

For the scourge of war is not lightened
By the tears and lamenting of men;
Only prayer, repentance, atonement,
Can ever bring peace again.

So enfold in your Rosary Crusade
All your war-torn children today -
The sinful, suffering, despondent,
Dear Mother, please help us to pray.

Then take all our Ave Marias
To the Sacred Heart of your Son;
And plead with Him, dear Mother,
That Peace on earth may come.

Immaculate Mother, Queen of Peace,
Awaken in the hearts of men
Devotion to your Son and thee -
The Song of Bernadette again.

– Bernice Gleason Grant
Cyril Robert. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, New York: Marist Press, 1944. 

The Canticle of Bernadette

'Tis near the noonday on Massabielle
When the rock will resound to the Angelus bell.

A maiden of Lourdes from the old mountain town
Goes gathering driftwood the Gave may bring down.

No wind in the poplars, no sound in the hills -
A sudden breath passes, and Bernadette thrills.

What vision beams yonder? The green - ivied grot
Enshrineth such glory as mortals know not.

Oh, fairer than queens is this Queen undefiled,
Who tenderly smiles on the shepherdess child.

God's angels have garbed her in white robe and veil;
Beside her blue girdle the blue sky looks pale.

A rosary gleams in her fingers so fair;
The fine gold is beaded with jewels most rare.

Gold roses of Eden her white feet adorn,
For Mary remaineth the Rose without thorn.

Fifteen times Bernadette kept her pilgrimage tryst
With Mary, the mild maiden - Mother of Christ.

"Oh, pray for poor sinners, do penance and pray!"
What sorrow the tones of Our Lady betray!"

"Go wash in the well-spring," said Mary - "and drink,
And taste of the wild herb that grows by the brink."

Oh, strange! When the child digs a hole in the ground,
At the touch of her fingers well-waters abound.

At Lady-Day dawning the secret is told -
"In me the Immaculate Conception behold!"

All hail to thee, Mary, God's beautiful one,
Who gave to the world God's own holy Son.

- Cyril Robert. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine. Poughkeepsie, New York: Marist Press, 1946.
FEBRUARY MARIAN POETRY.. FEBRUARY MARIAN POETRY.. Reviewed by Francisco Nascimento on 02:49 Rating: 5

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