THE AVE’S, OR LIGHTS OF HOME.

In that land of haunting beauty, Our Mary’s own sweet month of May, In a thatched cottage years ago, While the birds chirped in the hedgerows, And the flowers were veiled in sleep, Sweet Ave’s from fond hearts did flow. In the shadows of the turf fire, Several figures knelt in pray’r, The soft breeze lingered by the door, While the oft repeated Ave’s, The sweet Hail Mary full of grace Their beads they counted o’er and o’er. Oh for this the May breeze waited, And then at last went on its way, The hawthorn’s perfume filled the air, For the incense of those Ave’s It bore away to Mary’s throne, A tribute of love and prayer.