Notre Dame du Rosaire
To you we sing: a million tongues, one voice;
to you who bore the Giver of all breath:
Queen at whose sight all heavy hearts rejoice,
accept this garland of our ardent faith.
Through careworn fingers pass the circled beads:
an abacus that tabulates our praise,
a lullaby to calm our crying needs,
a remedy upon our sickest days.
Fifty Hail Marys, coolly burning coals,
refresh our speech until, no longer sour
with hate or pride, no longer parched by lust,
we beg you, Nurse and virgin, heal our souls:
minister mercy now and every hour
until we give our bones back to the dust.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
Read 133 times
Written on 2018-05-14 at 05:12
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