THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY VISITIN

ELIZABETH.

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of one th bringeth good tidings!-Is. lii.

"Montes, superbum verticem."

YE mountains, bend ye low,
O'er which the Virgin flies,
To whom the starry skies
Would their glad summits bow.

In maiden fear conceal'd,

Long hid in quiet home,

She now abroad doth come,

With charity her shield.

She flies without delay,—

She flies from human eyes,

Not to be seen, she flies,

And fears lest aught betray.

Blest earth, whereon she trod,

Put forth your fragrance sweet ;Blest hills, that felt her feet, The mother with her God.

More blest ye friends, whose guest She now doth silence break,

Of heavenly things to speak,

And where her footsteps rest.

The Father, who doth send,
The Son, who saves the lost,
The guiding Holy Ghost,
We praise Thee without end.

ST. MARY MAGDALENE.

AT THE FIRST VESPERS.

What a word is this! for with authority and power He com mandeth the unclean spirits, and they come out.-LUKE iv. 36.

"Procul maligni cedite spiritus."

AVAUNT, ye fiends unclean,
It is our God commands;

Spare the worn Magdalene

From your tormenting bands:

They hear Christ's voice in dread dismay-
The seven-fold fiends are fled away.

Now, to herself restor❜d,

She follows Christ alone,

And treasures every word

Which she from Him hath won ;And now, beneath the accursed wood

Whereon He hung, she weeping stood.

She, haply, fondly deems

That she would bear His pains,
The weight she little dreams

Of all our guilty stains ;

His dying head she sees Him bow,
And silence speaks her solemn woe.

To Father, and to Son,

As hath been aye of yore;

To Spirit, ever one,

Be praise for evermore :

In whom our souls, all newly born,
Kindle with fires of heavenly morn.

AT MIDNIGHT.

They shall look upon Me, and they shall mourn as one mournfor his only son, and shall be in bitterness for Him, as one at is in bitterness for his first-born-ZECH. XII.

"Plagis Magistri saucia."

SAD Mary feels in her own breast
Her Master's bleeding wounds;
Love stronger burns by griefs opprest,
And now with tears abounds.

No raging crowds her spirit meek,
No deeds of blood appal;

'Mid soldiers fierce she dares to seek
A hated criminal.

Ah, Mary, thou dost little know
What good doth thee surround;
Seeking the dead, while death e'en now
Receives his mortal wound.

He whom thou lovest thee shall claim,
Arous'd from death's cold sleep;
Thee first He calls, thee by thy name,
And bids thee not to weep.

O might I touch Thy sacred feet,

Adoring, cling to Thee!

Nay, raise thy thoughts to joys more meet,

For immortality.

The promises are fully wrought,

First of Apostles thou,

Sent to Apostles, by thee taught

The tidings glad to know.