The following is an unpublished, bound collection from 1934

STARS
AND
OTHER POEMS
MARGIE MARY CANNON

Dedication

And if I hold a love
Of beauty or of art
All these I found
In your heart.
And if I sing in lyric tones
Songs from a distant knoll,
They are the echoings
Of your soul.

I could not fashion....

I could not fashion anything
That you might wear,
Or even tend one rose
To twine within your hair,
I only place these thoughts
Within your hand and say,
"Here are some poems
I made for you -- to-day."

signed Margie Mary

CONTENTS
Dedication
I could not fashion
Freedom 1
If down my street 2
Why 3
St. John the Baptist 4
I would give thanks 5
Youth 6
The Presence 7
The Universe 8
I love the peacefulness 9
Fulfillment 10
The Chosen One 11
A Pessimist Views Life 12
To a Misled Poet 13
Candles Burn 14
To a Very Modern Youth 15
To Lillian White Spencer 16
Influence 17
Night 18
Remembrance 19
A Formal Tea 20
The Whisp 21
Resurrection 22
Standard Bearers 23
April 24
Acknowledgement 25
Maturity 26
Perfection 27
Portraiture 28
To the Day 29
Foot-prints 30
Corpus Christi Procession 31
Sonnet to Our Lady of Grace Statue32
Shadows 33
These are the Things 34
To Wilfred Meynell 35
Neighbors 36
Holy Thursday 37
Good Friday 38
Stars 39
Sonnet to Shelley 40
Dawn 41
Evolution 42
Adore Te 43
Contentment 44
Mass 45
Transubstantiation 46
A Child's Rule of Life 47
Venite Adoremus 48
Masquerade 49
Betrayal 50
Apologia 51
A Busy Street 52
Balthasar Seeks a Star 53
I had not felt 54
A Second Spring 55
To Vera Marie Tracy 56
Easter Sunday 57
Utterance 58
Sonnet to Dante 59
Worship 60
Oh earth, be kind! 61
Lost 62
Omnipotence 63
Creation 64
The Moon 65
Only a clown's suit 66
I would give to earth 67
To One Deafened 68
Pierette 69
To Dad 70
My little window 71
To Sara Teasdale 72
Heaven 73
The Theologian 74
Sonnet to a Soul 75
Dusk 76
Prayer for 77
Exposition 78
October 79
Coquette 80
To a New Prelate 81
To a Priest's Hands 82
To the Statue of Christ of the Rockies 83
Service 84
Spring Song 85
Spring, outside of Jerusalem 86
Whimsey 87
Peace..and joy..and happiness 88
Vinctus 89
Vigil 90
Friendship 91
Mother of Judas 92
My Two Sons 93
Biography 94
Compensation 95
You were the love 96
In Remembrance 97
Mother of Christ 98
Height 99
Make light upon the earth 100
Et Homo Factus Est 101

Christmas
1934

Freedom

Give to me
The freedom of a swallow
And the footprints of a minstrel to follow,
I shall ask no more . . .

If down my street . . .

If down my street should come walking
A little Boy, small but wise,
With the light of Heaven caught in His hair
And eternity in His eyes,

I know I would want to call to Him
As He passes along my way,
And ask Him to hurry to your house
To be with you on Christmas Day.

Why?

I know not why
When I gaze into the sky
That the s(t)illness of the night
Should enchant me.

It seems to me
That the roaring of the sea
Was not meant to be so restless
And defiant.

I know not why
All that lives must die
That I long to follow after
When you go,

It just must be
That as with sky and sea,
When you come . . and . . go . .
That God has wished it so,
But Why?

To a Very Modern Youth

You thought that you could buy my love
Like a man who buys a tonic for his hair,
Or a cigarette to light, inhale
Then deftly expel their smoke into the air.

Such bargaining I scorn Amusingly
Seems strange I never knew,
That my love is hidden safe behind a
Counter, from a such as you!

TO FREDERICK SR.

THROUGH your art
To your heart
Through your soul
To your goal
That all may be one
In your son.



GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
is given to the Catholic World, Spirit, Ave Maria, America, Extension, the Far East, the Guild, the Challenge, the Catholic Review, and to Rt. Rev. Monsignor Fulton Sheen, for permission to reprint many of the following poems.

CONTENTS

DEDICATION III
NATIVITY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN 1
ET HOMO FACTUS EST 2
VENITE ADOREMUS 3
CHRISTMAS EVE 4
THESE WERE THE WORRIES 5
ELOI, ELOI, LAMMA SABACTHANI? 6
HOLY THURSDAY 7
EASTER 8
ASSUMPTION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN 9
INSTALLATION OF A BISHOP 10
OUR LADY OF THE EUCHARIST 11
MARY OF MOUNTAINS 12
THAT YOU MAY KNOW 13
WORSHIP 14
FOOTPRINTS 15
OUR LADY OF SANTA MARIA 16
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT 17
BLUE SHADOWS 18
CREATION 19
DESTRUCTION 20
OH, PRAY TONIGHT 21
MASS 22
GOOD FRIDAY 23
STARS 24
TO MICHAEL 25
NOCTURNE 26
I NEVER SEE 27
DAWN 28
IDENTITY 29
TO MOTHER 30
PETITION 31
INVESTITURE OF A MONSIGNOR 32
A BUSY STREET 33
CHILD'S PRAYER AT THE COMMUNION 34
CHILD'S PRAYER AT THE CONSECRATION 35
TO A PRIEST'S HANDS 36
BIOGRAPHY 37
TO ONE SUFFERING 38
EXPOSITION 39
THIS LITTLE WINDOW 40
TO A BRIDE 41
TRANSUBSTANTIATION 42
DOWN THE LONG STREETS 43
NOVEMBER 44
WHEN IT IS SPRING 45
GIFTS 46
CORPUS CHRISTI PROCESSION 47
TO THE STATUE OF CHRIST OF THE ROCKIES 48
TO ONE DEAFENED 49
THE MOON 50
EPITAPH FOR A NUN 51
ON LOOKING AT THE SEA 52
THE CRITIC 53
WHEN I AM OLD 54
TO MY SON 55


October 3, 1939
Feast of St. Therese of Lisieux

NATIVITY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN

ST. ANN looked down at her baby girl,
St. Joachim stood by her side;
Just for a moment their hearts were filled
With a simple family pride.

St. touched her tiny toes
As though she were some small toy;
He was just as glad she was a girl
Instead of a little boy.

St. Ann took both of her baby's hands
And raised them to her lips;
Not knowing that some day the World would rise
From the rim of those fingertips.

At noon the window opened wide
And startled St. Ann from prayer;
A white, white Dove flew suddenly in
And touched her baby's hair.

That night the townsfolk brought strange news:
"And who is it understands?
For a woman was seen on the hilltop
With no chains on her feet or hands."

ET HOMO FACTUS EST

HE DID not see the manger
Bare and cold;
For you had built yourself about Him,
House of Gold!

He did not even notice
The little swaddling clothes;
He only saw you blooming,
Mystical Rose!

He did not miss the angels
Nor call for His choirs of seven;
For He could peer at them through you,
Gate of Heaven!

He did not look out planetward
And cry, "How long . . . how bright . . . how far."
You were His time . . . His light . . . His space . . .
Morning Star!

And thus it was that He could keep
These secrets safe with you,
Who gave to Him your life, and He
"In grace and wisdom grew."

VENITE ADOREMUS

SHE was the human chalice
Delicate and fine;
He was the infinite Substance,
Hew was the Wine.

She was the voice that angels
Very often heard;
He was the Sound unspoken,
He was the Word.

She was the slender taper
Enclosing Him that night;
He was the Flame eternal,
He was the Light.

CHRISTMAS EVE

AROUND the world she walks tonight
Beyond the stark Judean hills;
Looking for candles men might light
On their souls' window-sills.

Back to Bethlehem she comes,
No tapers burn for Him or her;
Yet in her heart's ciborium
To angels' songs she feels Him stir.

One star is eager for His birth,
And to the manger, at its nod,
High priestess she of heaven and earth,
Enters and brings forth -- God!

THESE WERE THE WORRIES

These were the worries Mary knew
When Jesus was scarcely more than two;
Wiping the dust of stars from His eyes,
Whenever He wished He could play in the skies;
Washing the beams of the moon from His hair --
They would tangle it up if she left them there;
Emptying His pockets at night to find
Pieces of clouds, and every kind
Of raindrop, each like a crystal ball,
And sunbeams that didn't get hot at all,
Blue flowers as fragrant as though they were still
Trembling with life upon some hill;
These were the worries Mary knew
When Jesus was scarcely more than two.

ELOI, ELOI, LAMMA SABACTHANI?

You had no fears in teaching Him new words
When He began to talk;
And always you would stay close by His side
When He began to walk.

But when you held Him on your knee
To tell of God that day,
What did you see within His eyes, to turn
So suddenly away?

HOLY THURSDAY

MARY watched at the open door
All the late afternoon;
It was growing dark. The air was warm
Jesus was coming soon.

Mary fancied that she saw
Grapes stir on the vine,
And a shudder of life run through the wheat;
Perhaps it was a sign.

Mary trembled as she felt
Each star give forth its light;
Strange, strange words came back to her:
"Do not wait up this night."

Mary fell upon her knees
And lost herself in prayer;
While God looked down from the seventh sphere
And lovingly stroked her hair.

EASTER

LILY of this morn! Transplanted Flower,
Whose whiteness never failed to catch the Light!
How have you stood these last, bewildering hours
Watching your Dawn crowned with the thorns of night?

Quiet flower blooming in this quiet garden
That yesterday knew only cries of hate;
See! Pillagers have left their tears behind them,
It could not be that they have wept too late.

But, no! This third day has its meaning,
One comes clothed in garments of the sun;
His fingered rays have caught the dew in passing
And nowhere has He left His work undone.

Down the long roadway of the east's horizon
He passes like a soft wind seeking rest;
Until He finds you -- dawn of all His mornings --
He kneels to press your life against His breast.

ASSUMPTION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN

THAT day you felt the Breath of Heaven
Blow gently on your lovely, tired face,
And walked to meet the Life you once had given,
And heard the angels singing, "Full of grace";
You left the little street of Nazareth yearning.
It could not understand where you had gone.
Men closed their shops. No lamps were burning.
And even urchins could not find a song.

Today I see a mad, wild thronging
Down Nazareth's street that passes every door,
And deep within my soul there is that longing
For shops to close again as once before;
That I might stand silently here with men
Who stop upon their busy way for love,
Hoping to hear your footsteps pass, and then
To see within your arms a white, white Dove.

INSTALLATION OF A BISHOP

LONG hours Our Lady spent in weaving,
Upon her throne of depthless blue,
A robe of crimson beauty gleaming
That some day would be worn by you.

Long days Our Lady spent in praying
Once your priesthood had been won;
Other signs of special trusting
Would be given by her Son.

Long years Our Lady will be watching
Down centuries her earthly see;
And to each new prelate whispering:
"I have placed my trust in thee."

OUR LADY OF THE EUCHARIST

WHITE, white Petals from eternal Roses,
Blooming, blooming in this golden cup;
Humanity silent with knowledge and wonder
Gathering Them up.
Deep in the Source of this Springtime
Where the last earth-flower grows,
In the infinite Chalice of Heaven
Blooms one Mystical Rose!

MARY OF MOUNTAINS

MARY of Mountains,
Hold fast growing trees
That tremble with fright
At the touch of a breeze.

Mary of Mountains
Keep close by your side
All rivers that rush on
To meet the full tide.

Mary of Mountains,
Have pity as we
Climb over sharp rocks
To the summit of thee!

THAT YOU MAY KNOW

(To M. M. D)

IF I should ever fail the trust
That knowing you has placed within my soul,
Then let me fold within the dust
Of things that never knew a goal;
For I would be like some rich field of grain
You might have planted in the early spring,
That all of sun and wind and rain
Had failed to bring unto a harvesting.

No. Rather let me keep this silent way --
Your love within my heart bound fast,
Until down far, blue hills on that new day
I run to you, and free your thoughts at last,
To give them back and say, perhaps through tears:
"All these you gave me throughout the years."

WORSHIP

MORNING found me in Our Lady's chapel
Walking down the aisle of cool green grass;
Everything was hushed and breathless,
Not even flowers stirred to see me pass.
The buttercups still held the holy water;
Lightly I touched my fingers to the dew
And thought of her who dwells in beauty,
Gazed upward through earth's telescope of blue.

Morning found me in Our Lady's chapel
Kneeling on a bench of rich brown sod;
There was music playing in the branches,
Linnets singing praises to their God.
Her whisper came as softly as the clouds that pass:
"The sun will soon be risen. Let us think of Mass."

FOOTPRINTS

How do I know
That you have been here?
Why, many ways:
It is simple, dear.
The little blue flowers
I saw yesterday
Climbing the hillside
Point out the way
To where you have been
And the path you took
As you walked along;
Why, every nook
With its carpet of green
Has a footprint of blue --
You must have been seen
Passing this way;
The violets and columbines
Away in the wood
Are marking the places
Where you have stood;
And I pause in reverence
At their tints of blue
For these flowers to me
Are footprints of you!

OUR LADY OF SANTA MARIA

LOVELY, white lady in your marble gown,
The mountains kneel in reverence at your feet,
And audibly their prayers the pines repeat
While all the stars shine jewel-like for your crown;
It seems I see you stir and move your head
To see if birds and flowers are asleep
And mother-like, you tuck them all in bed
And wipe away the dew from those who weep.

Upon a moonbeamed path across the sky
Two angel clouds come walking side by side,
And clasp the hand of One they try to hide
Between them from my earthbound, peering eye;
It must have been your little Boy they hid from sight,
Who came to kiss you, tenderly, good-night.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

IF CHRIST should come on earth some summer day
And walk unknown upon our busy street,
I wonder how 'twould be if we should meet
And -- being God -- if He would act that way.

Perhaps the kindest thing that He would do
Would be just to forget I failed to pray,
And clasp my hand forgivingly, and say:
"My child, I've heard My Mother speak of you.:

BLUE SHADOWS

BLUE shadows pass by me whenever I see
A bluebird clinging to some tall tree,
Or a deep lake holding liquid blue --
My soul moves out to a strange, new
Faith I had not felt within before;
Blue larkspur growing at your door
Burns torchwise on its stem a light
Of clear, blue flame against the deep, blue night;
Shadows of far, blue hills I know
Bend over a city street of snow;
Whenever hearts of love and hope meet,
Blue arrows pass that are swift and fleet;
Blue breathes the spirit of one I see
Bringing high courage each day to me.

O Queen of Heaven, what should I do
On finding you were not dressed in blue!

CREATION

WHITE light hidden in the shade of darkness,
Limits resting on the breast of space,
Waiting for that first, brief, dreadful moment
When fear would creep across Your fearless face;
Oceans thirsting in an empty ocean,
Tall hills sucking up their height;
Held within Your hand of no beginning,
Trembling at the weakness of their might;
Waiting for that warmed breath of being
Slowing rising from a whispered "Rise!"
Then to stand transfixed but for an instant
And watch a moving world within Your eyes.

DESTRUCTION

RIVERS unrolling all that rolled before them,
Star upon star flying back toward light;
Suns grown cold yet burning crimson,
Day exchanging places with the night;
Deep earth bearing forth its burden,
Blind eyes staring at the blind,
Reason running wild through calm confusion,
Memory slowly eating up the mind;
Wild, wild laughter tearing
From out the raucous throat of fear,
Waterfalls of human anguish spilling
Into one sob, as Life draws near.

OH, PRAY TONIGHT

OH, PRAY tonight!
So many souls are groping in the dark,
So many stars are waiting for a spark
To give then light;
Oh, pray tonight!

Oh, pray tonight!
Dawn is so far away
From those whose ray
Of hope is lost from sight;
Oh, pray tonight!

MASS

THE consecrated night bends low
Above the golden chalice of the moon,
And vested clouds stir to and fro
About the sacristy of sky; soon
From the vineyard of the dawn
The sparkling wine will run
And join the morning's freshened dew
Consumed as one.

GOOD FRIDAY

I NEVER thought of Love
As hanging to a tree;
Bleeding, racked with pain,
Enduring silently.

I never thought of Love
Against a darkened sky;
A throbbing heart whom we
Had dared to crucify!

STARS

I LIKE to think perhaps
Some soul who knew
That pain endured, could reach
Far up into the darkened blue
Of sky, on wings of prayer
And find, to its delight, God there.

And He, in tender pity, would adorn
With brilliancies the places prayer had torn.

TO MICHAEL

FAR deep in you I know there lies
Some poetry, for in your eyes
When I stand close I often see
A little poem look out at me;
I think it often wants to sing
About some secret, hidden thing,
But patiently it waits awhile
Until you free it with your smile.

NOCTURNE

THERE is a beauty in God's mind this night!
The sky hangs low upon the eastern hill
And falls in folds of darkness to the still,
Awaiting breathlessness of hidden light;
The air walks quietly about the land,
A moonlit aureole above her head,
The stars are gathering a vigil band
And flowers sleep unnoticed in their bed;
The sea is breathing in an undertone,
Its breast is rhythmic in its rise and fall,
A silence blooms where seeds of love are sown,
There is no answer to the eagle's call;
Prayer is being borne far out of sight.
There is a beauty in God's mind this night!

I NEVER SEE

I NEVER see a child upon the street
Whose soul is bound by hidden, city walls
But what I think of tall, white mountainpeaks
And flowers dipped in blue, and waterfalls
That rush down eagerly to catch
The golden sunbeams as they fall each day;
And oh, I want to tell of all these things
To every little child that comes my way.

I want to tell them how each sleeping night
The stars bend low and whisper to the trees.
I never do. I'm always so afraid they won't believe
The world is holding miracles like these.
So many memories are tearing at my throat
When any little child comes into view,
And so I only smile at them and breathe
From out my heart a childish prayer for you.

DAWN

SLOWLY she comes
To the banquet rail
While the sky holds up
Her communion veil;
And her young heart beats
Within her breast
As she beholds
Her awaiting Guest,
Who receives her as
His chosen one,
And she is lost
In the Risen Sun!

IDENTITY

WITHIN the upper room that night,
Where on the table rested Wine and Bread,
And all about You sat the ones You loved
Listening to each word You said --

Was I there, Christ? Was I Iscariot,
Who sold a trust and thus did fall?
Or was I John who sat beside You,
Prayerful at the wonder of it all?

TO MOTHER

YOU are the poem I pattern after,
For I can never think of any time
When you have used a rhyme
Ill-suited to your soul's soft laughter,
That sings unbrokenly in every line
You live. I read you often
And hope discordant tones will soften
In this unfolding song of mine:
That I shall sing as you are singing
Bravely under sun and stars and moon;
That I shall live as you are living
With beauty that was not eclipsed too soon;
That I shall know how lifeless is my art,
If deadened to dactyllic throbbings of your heart!

PETITION

I THINK there must be work to do in heaven,
Small, little tasks each one is given;
A shepherd boy would like to tend some flocks,
And Mary, too, must love a bed of hollyhocks.

But if I go, what is there I can do?
I cannot cook, or sew, or even mend for You;
Dear God, please say that I may stay
If I but write a poem for You each day!

INVESTITURE OF A MONSIGNOR

PALE, gold light crept over Galilee,
And Peter started toward the Master's door.
"I must be going now. I've told you all
The miracles .. the hungry fed. There is no more."
The Master saw that he was thinly clad,
He thought of cold noghts spent upon the sea;
"Here, take this cloak," He said,
"Wear it, Peter. It belongs yo Me."

And so it is with you today, I think,
Who knew these things that Peter knew.
Galilee is changed; new winds blow on the sea;
But the hungry and the sick come now to you;
Your cloak, the color of the love He bore,
Is it not the same as Peter wore?

A BUSY STREET

A BUSY street can hold so many things:
The broken hearts men carry as they go
From place to place; The many hopes whose wings
Are fettered by realities they know;
The light of hunger burning in each eye
And seeming to consume wach weakened frame,
While far above the roar one pitying cry
Falls back into a soul from whence it came.

But God is not unmindful of a street
That bears upon its back so many cares;
His sunshine falls in golden pools at feet
Of those who hurry back and forth with wares;
He takes its cross upon His back each night
And makes the burden of a street seem light.

CHILD'S PRAYER AT THE COMMUNION

DEAR Jesus, we will never know
How You could ever love us so,
As on that night when You had said,
"This is My Body," to the bread;
Or with what love Your eyes did shine
In saying, "This is My Blood," unto the wine.
We thank You, Jesus, for that day
You gave, through Love, Yourself away.

CHILD'S PRAYER AT THE CONSECRATION

DEAR Jesus, often we forget
To thank You for Your love, and yet
When You changed water into wine
You must have used that as a sign
For us, That You can fill our hearts if we
But give them to You generously,
And that You'll never let us thirst
If we but ask Your Mother first!

TO A PRIEST'S HANDS

THEY could have tilled the soil to beauty
And brought a ripened harvest in the fall;
Men would have clamored to have seen them
Sorting coins within the changer's hall;
They could have held their worthy portion
Of love and gratitude immersed in one;
Kindness would have fallen gently from them
Between the rising and the setting of the sun.

Was it because you once had heard the story
Of how He healed the sick...and lame...and blind...
And little children ran for miles to see Him,
Hungry, tired, too -- they did not mind;
For He would place His hands upon them
And they anointed Him with kisses sweet;
Did you hear how those bent low with sorrow
Had made a pathway to His little street?

That you had vowed your hands would serve Him
To bless, anoint throughout the day
Those who came to you for counsel
And others you would meet along the way;
And do you feel, each newborn morning,
Touching Him gently with your fingertips,
The thrill that Peter, James and John remembered,
When "This is My Body" fell from His lips.

BIOGRAPHY

THE rich, young man who sadly turned away --
What did he do those long, remaining years?
Where could he go? Your words both night and day
Must have been sounding in his deafened ears.

I saw him, Christ, within the marketplace,
And heard him, too, above the vender's cries;
There were tear-stains cut deep into his face
And sadness burning in his faded eyes.

TO ONE SUFFERING

I WOULD like in early dawn
To make my way
To where you lie in bed and suffer so,
And let you take a holiday
From pain, and let me try to bear
Those things you know.

Forgive me! Love makes one
Want to do
A thousand foolish things;
Why should I rob Him of you,
And you, of all
His sufferings?

EXPOSITION

I WATCHED the tall white candles burn
To tiny tapers in His sight;
It seemed the Eucharistic rays
Consumed their light.

THIS LITTLE WINDOW

THIS little window holds You, God,
And when I lie in bed,
I raise my eyes and see You there
With stars above Your head.

Oh, make a window in my soul
Where I may always see
You standing as You are tonight,
Your arms outstretched toward me.

TO A BRIDE

I NEVER knew by what strange, silent way
You met this love that now you humbly claim,
Until he told me how from day to day
He whispered to his soul your hallowed name;
And held you closer than you ever knew
Within his heart, yet worshiped from afar
The still, white beauty that he found in you
Who are his morning and his evening star.

So now through you another thought gives birth,
That love is the ambassador of gain,
For verdancy lies hidden in the earth
Till it is nurtured by the fallen rain,
And flowers die before their life's begun
For lack of golden nectar from the sun.

TRANSUBSTANTIATION

A FIELD of yellow wheat may be
A sacred thing,
To those who know what whitened Bread
Can bring;

Or ripened grapes suspended
From a vine,
Awaiting hands to crush them
Into Wine.

DOWN THE LONG STREETS

DOWN the long streets of the world they pass,
The children of life hurrying by,
Some of them laugh and sing as they go,
Others have tears in their eye;
You and I stand at the top of the hill
And watch where they have trod,
While our hearts keep beat with their eager feet
As they cry, "We are looking for God!"

NOVEMBER

THE golden-chaliced autumn,
Studded with amber and red,
Awaits the fall of the snowflakes --
Earth's Eucharistic bread.

WHEN IT IS SPRING

WHEN it is spring,
Eagerly I search within the sod
For last year's flower-tints, imagining
That I am helping God.

When it is autumn,
Chained, I watch colors roll
Across the earth in God's chariots,
Thundering past my soul.

GIFTS

(To Frederick Sr.)

YOU could have given me only your knowledge
Of fine lines cut in stone,
Making tall towers to stand with time
Alone.

But when you gave me your love,
Then could you see
You were lighting another lamp throughout
Eternity?

CORPUS CHRISTI PROCESSION

JESUS of Nazareth came passing by
Under a stippled, hanging sky;
There were no palms beneath His feet
But the song of the birds from the trees was sweet,
The breathless, blue flowers that ceased to sway
Bowed low their heads in a reverent way,
And the rushing water down the hill
Its "Pange Lingua" is chanting still;
The leaves all quivered upon their stem
The grass grew green where the hem
Of His garment had touched each blade,
While down the mountain the purple shade
Came stealing softly to the place
Where the sun shone round His lovely face.

And it seemed that even those mountains high
Grew small as He came passing by.

TO THE STATUE OF
CHRIST OF THE ROCKIES

(Concerning Mrs. John L. Dower)

THROUHG all eternity I think that she will see You
Standing on this mountain robed in white,
And somewhere in the darkness will be smiling
Your Mother, as she radiates Your light;
Then she will se Your eyes were violet,
The last, royal color to leave the evening sky,
And she will hear the songs the stars were singing
As in procession they had passed You by;
Then she will know the little, eager secrets
Whish children whispered to You from their beds,
And she will feel the selfsame benediction
Your outstretched hand had placed upon their heads;
And I shall sing in silence all my praises
For You will have much greater hymns than these,
There will be trees chanting in the forests
And candles burning in the mystic Pleiades.

TO ONE DEAFENED

God never takes but what He gives to one:
Where hung the moon He places now the sun;
And where the light of morn plays on the grass,
At evening time the violet shadows pass;
He takes the silver from each star that gleams
And pours it into noonday mountain streams;
For life grown old, He gives another new,
Warm winds bring rain, cold winds a frosted dew.

And so in you God's miracle is found,
For He has taken from your mind the sound
Of busy earth, the heated, nervous shrill,
And gives in place of this the still
Cool sounds that linger near a pansy bed
Or point to distant stars above your head;
Why need you wish to hear the words we say
Who have the voice of God both night and day!

THE MOON

THE tiny, baby God let fall
His round and radiant golden ball;
From off His lap it slipped away,
And all the cherubs ceased their play.
Aquinas closed his scriptural book,
Peter and John both went to look;
Nor did they find, nor did they ask
As to the vainness of their task,
But gathered all the angels there
And sent them searching through the air;
They blew their trumpets far and wide,
Till Michael and Gabriel stood side by side.
And all the while His baby face
Was looking down through endless space
At the round and radiant golden ball
Which He purposely had let fall;
For oh, He saw a little boy
Who needed, more than He, a toy!

And thus it rolls on the floor of sky,
Silencing many a childish cry.

EPITAPH FOR A NUN

SEE! she goes
Quietly unafraid to You,
Holding her life,
With one short breath,
Now giving her
Last long sigh to death.

And she would wish it said
That she was one
Who, like a plant, had died
Of too much Sun.

ON LOOKING AT THE SEA

OMNIPOTENCE! I offer Thee
All the actions of Thy sea,
Wave on wave that rolls toward land,
Breaks! and falls in Thy hidden hand;
Chanting a royal chant to Thy throne
In one, sustained, unbroken tone.
Oh, make my soul like to Thy sea,
And walk upon the waves to me.

THE CRITIC

God has a book He calls "The World,"
He knows its every part;
Each chapter heading is the same:
"A Human Heart."

And when I want to run to Him
Or turn away,
I think it is because He reads
My page today.

WHEN I AM OLD

TO MY SON

(Frederick Jr.)

HERE is your heritage, son of the church-builder!
This is your father's luminous mind -- God's home;
All is yours -- the rose and blue hushed mosaics,
These arches and this Guastavino dome;
The altar inlaid with symbols of the ages,
The baldachin rising like the wind of some great bird,
Here Rome's ambassador poured the cleansing waters,
And prayed upon your infant lips the Word.

When you have grown to manhood, this remember;
Of what rare substance ism your father made,
Such delicacy of line and strength of feeling
Came from his quiet mind that was not afraid;
Then you will go forth alone, unaided --
Hiding your hopes behind your young, calm eyes;
Building your monument within a selfless structure,
Knowing full well wherein such power lies.

Cum permissu superiorum

Peter and I

These were verses inspired by Aquinas's proofs for the existence of God.  They were published (1950s?) in a Catholic comic book named "Topix" produced  by the Catechetical Guild

The following were transcribed from copies with missing parts.

I

I asked the old man if he would pull me,

And he pulled as hard as he could,

And I took a hold of Peter, too,

And we both reached the top, as we should.

(4) Ill

Peter and I we thanked the old man

For being so very kind

But he only smiled and looked at us

And said that he did not mind..

(5)

And I said, "See here, Mr. Man,

The world is like Peter and me,

It would stand just as still and would never move

Unless God pulled it constantly.

(6) Ill

And God, too, would smile even better than you

If you'd only stop to say,

"I thank You for pulling me along

Dear God, day after day."

II

(9)

We helped her plant the tiny seeds

From the flowers the year before

And we placed each one in the rich, brown earth

Until we had no more.

(10)

She thanked us both for helping her

Before we rose to go

But Peter said we deserved no thanks

As we do not make flowers grow.

(11) Ill

And though these seeds will bring forth flowers

And flowers more seeds again,

Not even the sun could start them to grow

Or even lots of rain.

(12)

And I said, "why all the seeds in all the world

Could lie away in the sod

Forever, and no one could make them grow

Excepting You--dear God!"

III

(13)

Now Peter and I and the old, old man

Were tired as we could be,

So on our way home we stopped to see friends

Who gave us some cookies and tea.

(14)

They showed us their birds that were flying around

In a room that was made of glass,

One flew on the top of Peter's head,

We laughed as we watched them pass.

(15)

Our friends could call each bird by name

But they very sadly said,

That once they had a lot more birds

But all of them were dead..

(16)

Peter knew just how they felt

And told them not to fear,

That many birds that weren't living now

Would be alive next year.

(17)

"And see", I said, to the old, old man,

"Some birds lived years ago,

And other birds will be here when we're dead,

And those birds we will never know.

(18)

And now you see there must be God

Who won't die like Peter and me,

Who knows all the birds that ever have been

And all that will ever be.

IV

(19)

Peter and I went down to the sea,

We had just lots of fun,

We rode the very highest waves

And dried ourselves in the sun.

(20)

But the old, old man he wouldn't go in,

He only sat in the shade,

We begged and begged and begged him some more,

We think that he was afraid.

(21)

Peter and I we looked at the sea

It seemed so large and grand,

And we could not think of anything

As large in any land.

(22)

When suddenly the thought struck me

And it struck Peter, too,

If nobody is as large as the sea

Then who tells it what to do?

(23)

Who in the world can make a sea

Suddenly rise and fall?

Or roar as a lion in a zoo?

Why no one on earth at all!

(24)

Peter talked in a very loud voice

So the old man could hear him too,

And he said, "the only One big enough

For the sea, must be, God-------You!

V

Peter and I and the old, old man

One night climbed up a hill.

There was snow on the ground, and we all agreed

That the world seemed never so still.

We could almost hear the stars pass by

And oh, it was fun to see

So many stars that were twinkling down

On Peter, the old man, and me.

There were even stars upon the ground

Shining from snow-flakes hearts,

And I asked the old man if he ever saw

Such stars in so many parts.

The more we looked into the sky

The smaller we seemed to be

And I held fast to Peter's hand

And the old man held fast to me

And we stood there a long, long time,

But we never said a word.

Peter and I prayed very hard

And we know our prayers were heard.

For the old, old man, he turned to us,

And he whispered very low:

"Yes, such a beautiful world of stars

Was made by God----I KNOW!"

The following titled "He is Risen", inspired by and dedicated to Francisco Arraes, S.J., copyright and published as a pamphlet by Arena Lettres, New Jersey, 1980, ISBN: 0-88479-024-X, with a foreword by C. J. McNaspy, S.J., and illustrations by Elizabeth Augenblick

It was transcribed from MCM's original carbon copy (I-IX) and from the publication ( X-XIV) by FVM July, 2004

I

Resurrection Stations

I:  Holy Saturday

"Do not tell anyone of what you have seen until the Son