Volume 8 — Christmas.
Reading edition
God an Infant—born to-day! Born to live, to die, for me! Bow, my soul; adoring say: "Lord, I live, I die, for Thee." Humble then, but fearless, rise: Seek the manger where He lies. Tread with awe the solemn ground: Though a stable mean and rude, Wondering angels all around Throng the seeming solitude: Swelling anthems, as on high, Hymn a second Trinity. [Footnote 156]
Lo, in bands of swathing wrapt, Meekly sleeps a tender Form: God on bed of straw is lapt! Breaths of cattle keep Him warm! King of glory, can it be Thou art thus for love of me? Hail, my Jesus, Lord of might! Who in tiny, helpless hand Thy creations infinite Holdest as a grain of sand! Hail, my Jesus—all my own! Mine, as if but mine alone! God made Man, and Man made God— Natures Two in Person One, I adore Thy Precious Blood, Pulsing, burning to atone: I adore Thy Sacred Heart, Surest proof of what Thou art. Hail, my Lady—full of grace! Maiden Mother, hail to thee! Poring on the radiant Face, Thine a voiceless ecstasy; Yet, sweet Mother, let me dare Join the worship of thy prayer. Mother of God—O wondrous name! Bending seraphs hail thee Queen. Mother of God—yet still the same Mary thou hast ever been: Still so lowly, though so great: Mortal, yet immaculate! O'er our exile's troubled sea, Thou the star, no sky shall dim: Christ our Light we owe to thee— Him to thee, and thee to Him. Take my heart, then: let it be Thine in Him, and His in thee. Joseph, hail—of gentlest power! Shadow of the Father thou: Thine to shield in danger's hour Whom thy presence comforts now. Mary trusts to thee her Child; He, His Mother undefiled. Teach me thou, then, how to live All for them—my only all; Looking to thy arm to give Help in trial or in fall; Till 'tis mine with thee to prove What it is to die of love.
From The French Of Erckmann And Chatrian.