O joyful heart of Mary,
What trembling bliss was thine,
Thy Son and God to worship
Within His humble shrine:
To watch His Infant footsteps,
To guard His infant rest,
Within thine arms to shield Him
And clasp Him to thy breast.
O mournful heart of Mary,
To meet that cruel day,
When rent and racked and tortured,
Upon the Cross He lay;
To feel His bitter anguish,
To hear His dying cry,
To see His death thirst mocked at,
And then to see him die.
O glorious Heart of Mary,
O wonder spot above,
Where God hath all surpassed Himself
In royalty and love;
For every pang a glory,
For every prayer a wreath,
His crowning grace above thee
His brightest saints beneath.
But sweetest and joyful Mother,
Mother of tears and woe,
Mother of grace and glory,
Thou still hast cares below:
Then bid us share thy rapture,
And bid us taste the pain,
And sing at last thy grandeur
In Christ’s eternal reign.
Fr. H. O’Laverty,
B.A.
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