O Domina Mea.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.

O MY Queen, O Mother most dear,
I give my heart to thee,
Through life's every changeful year,
All thine alone to be.

I give to thee all that I am :-
I call on thy heart so mild;
O Mary, reject not my prayer,
Receive me for thy child.

I give thee my heart and my soul,
To-day-for evermore:

O Mary, these gifts from thee
One glance of peace implore.

I give to thee all the hopes

That might bloom in life for me;

O Mary, console in return

My sorrows, whate'er they be.

I give to thee all my tears,
I blend them e'en with thine;
My memories, and my fears,

In thy mercy's light to shine.

I give thee the last dread hour
Of the last of all my days;
O Mary, obtain that I die

Still breathing forth thy praise.

Glory be to Jesus on high,

To the Mother our Lord that bore, On earth and above the sky

For ever and evermore !

O my Queen, O Mother most dear,
I give my heart to thee,
Through life's every changeful year,
All thine alone to be.

Legend or the Good Thief.

I.

A WAYWORN band of pilgrims three
Crossed Egypt's desert wild,

An old man, leading, on an ass,

A Mother and a Child.

And heaven's bright angels, too, were there,

By mortal eyes unseen,

For that Babe was their Infant God,
That mother was their Queen.

The scorching sun shone burning down
Upon the little band:

The mother wept for her sweet Babe
In that far weary land.

The shelter of a barren rock

And a wild cave they found,

Where a lone mournful woman sat,

Weeping, upon the ground.

Her husband was a robber chief,
She loathed his evil ways;

Her only child lay sick to death,
And dreary were her days.

Sudden she raised her tearful eyes,
At her low door to see,

Like sainted vision of the blest,
Those wayworn pilgrims three.

Sweetly for shelter then did pray
That maiden Mother mild,
For refuge from the noonday heat,
Rest for her weary Child.

And He, the holy Lamb of God, Scorned not the sinner's roof: Who came to seek and save the lost Ne'er coldly stood aloof.

The robber's wife with joy arose,

And, thankful, did her best

With hospitality to serve

Each saintly honoured guest.

And Mary gave her, ere they left,
Water from Jesus' bath,

And bade her wash her dying child
Therein with prayer and faith.

Straightway the boy was healed: low knelt The mother to adore,

And vowed to better serve her God

Than she had done before.

The holy guests set forth once more
To face the desert wild,-
But Jesus looked upon the lad,
And, gazing, sadly smiled.

II.

Beside the dying Saviour's cross
Two wretched thieves were hung:
One from foul blasphemy would not
Restrain his evil tongue.

The other looked upon his God,
And late contrition came
To his lone spirit in that hour

Of woe, and death, and shame.