O Maria, Regina Misericordiae!

THERE lived a Knight long years ago,
Proud, carnal, vain, devotionless.
Of GOD above, or Hell below,
He took no thought, but, undismayed,
Pursued his course of wickedness.
His heart was rock; he never prayed
To be forgiven for all his treasons;
He only said, at certain seasons,
"O MARY, Queen of Mercy!"

Years rolled, and found him still the same,
Still draining Pleasure's poison-bowl;
Yet felt he now and then some shame;
The torment of the Undying Worm
At whiles woke in his trembling soul;
And then, though powerless to reform,
Would he, in hope to appease that sternest
Avenger, cry, and more in earnest,
"O MARY, Queen of Mercy 1"

At last Youth's riotous time was gone,
And loathing now came after Sin.
With locks yet brown he felt as one
Grown grey at heart; and oft, with tears,
He tried, but all in vain, to win
From the dark desert of his years
One flower of hope; yet, morn and e'ening,
He still cried, but with deeper meaning,
"O MARY, Queen of Mercy! "

A happier mind, a holier mood,
A purer spirit, ruled him now:
No more in thrall to flesh and blood,
He took a pilgrim-staff in hand,
And, under a religious vow,
Travailed his way to Pommerland,
There entered he an humble cloister,
Exclaiming, while his eyes grew moister,
"O MARY, Queen of Mercy!"

Here, shorn and cowled, he laid his cares
Aside, and wrought for GOD alone.
Albeit he sang no choral prayers,
Nor matin hymn nor laud could learn,
He mortified his flesh to stone;
For him no penance was too stern;
And often prayed he on his lonely
Cell-couch at night, but still said only,
"O MARY, Queen of Mercy 1"

And thus he lived long, long; and, when
GOD'S angels called him, thus he died.
• Confession made he none to men,
Yet, when they anointed him with oil,
He seemed already glorified.
His penances, his tears, his toil,
Were past; and now, with passionate sighing
Praise thus broke from his lips while dying,
"O MARY, Queen of Mercy!"

They buried him with mass and song
Aneath a little knoll so green;
But, lo! a wonder-sight! — Ere long
Rose, blooming, from that verdant mound,
The fairest lily ever seen;
And, on its petal-edges round,
Believing their translucent whiteness,
Did shine these words in gold-hued brightness,
u O MARY, Queen of Mercy!"

And, would GOD'S angels give thee power,
Thou, dearest reader, mightst behold
The fibres of this holy flower
Upspringing from the dead man's heart
In tremulous threads of light and gold;
Then wouldst thou choose the better part I
And thenceforth flee Sin's foul suggestions;
Thy sole response to mocking questions,
"O MARY, Queen of Mercy!"