* * * * *
MAURICE HEALY
_IN MEMORIAM_
"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said;
And Jesus raised His weary head,
Bowed by the sorrows of the way,
And taught His children how to pray.
"Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried;
And Jesus sent you to my side
To make your own the soul I wear
And mould it purer into prayer.
And since your love first lit the way
I find that I have learned to pray;
For, that my soul may benefit,
I pray that you may pray for it.
_A BALLAD OF FRIENDSHIP_
_for two most dear Children_
Soured and dimmed and chilled with senility
Hobbled the year to its uttermost day;
I gave the best of a slender ability,
Seeking to make a short afternoon gay.
You were both claimed ere the sky was grey
Over the tips of the western towers;
Yet, as you went, you had time to say,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours!"
Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy--
Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong,
Tales of terror and tears to redundancy;
What is the score of my slavery's wrong?
Surely where pleasures so freely throng
Some sad fiend of unhappiness lowers;
Or is the refrain of Good Fortune's song,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours"?
When you enfranchised me into your mystery,
Lovingly stealing the sorrows I had,
Wisdom came with you; the old sad history
Glowed; and I knew in my heart why the sad
And outcast Lord grew suddenly glad
As the children thronged to crown Him with flowers,
When their cry was voiced by some tiny lad,
"This is no Stranger: we name Him ours!"
L'ENVOI.
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