The Tepeyac Miracle

Guadalupe Poetry

Four hundred and twenty-seven
years ago
Across the sea in Mexico
Our Lady of Guadalupe was seen
By an Indian poor, in clothing
Around Here shone a Heavenly
And as she left his wondering
Upon his lowly cloak so blessed
A picture of Herself she pressed.
So if there's no dissenting voice,
I feel that She should be our
choice !

Frances Ash
Catholic Herald
December 12, 1958.

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Our Lady of Guadalupe: 1952

We have learned to laugh like cannonades
When the corners of our tears rake our faces,
Because the night lurks so broadly in our day
And the trees put up their arms like deprecations.

Can you not hear us, Mary, hear our songs
Trickle down death? We plunge our prayers like swords
Deep in the lifting bosom of your mercy,
And all the world's a lonely Tepeyac
Yearning to kiss your feet.

Come, tease our winter
With your Castilian roses! Where we dance
Wrong measures, come and balance on the moon.
Because we all grow frowsy with our fears,
Wear the blue sun again in casual folds.

All men's faces turn like pitiless mirrors
To show our terror. Take the screaming stars
Back to their happy places on your mantle.

Mary, all the world's a Tepeyac
Bleak for your coming. Paint our shabby prayer,
A rougher tilma, with your saving face.

Francis D. Clarke.
Spirit Journal
Volume 19
pages 162-165.

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Our Lady of Guadalupe

The air was strangely still and calm
That cold December day;
When Juan Diego hurried on
To church where he would pray.

Good Juan would there assist at Mass
As was his wont to do;
When suddenly before him stood
A Lady dressed in blue.

The Lady gently spoke to Juan
Up there on Tepeyac hill;
Juan listened gravely to her words;
He would her wish fulfill.

The Lady asked him kindly
Would he the Bishop tell
That here a temple must be built?
This deed would please her well.

In haste good Juan walked down the hill
And gave the message clear.
Alas! The Prelate would not believe
The words that he did hear.

Poor Juan was very sad indeed,
For he was told to bring
A sign to prove his words were true;
How could he do this thing!

That eve the Lady came again
And stood on Tepeyac hill;
She waited there for Juan to say
He did her wish fulfill.

But Juan had gone another way
Where her he would not meet.
The Lady soon appeared to him;
Good Juan fell at her feet.

The Lady then addressed poor Juan;
She told him her own name:
"Holy Mary of Guadalupe."
His fears he overcame.

Juan told her of the Bishop's doubts;
He asked her for a sign;
The Lady bade him gather now
Some roses, fresh and fine.

The Indian knew no roses grew
On Tepeyac's rocky hill;
Yet Juan Diego went at once
To do the Lady's will.

Large, lovely roses Juan saw there
Where cactus plants had grown;
And in his "tilma" gathered fast
Bright roses all full-blown.

Juan joyfully went down the hill,
Then to the palace raced;
He had the sign the Prelate wished;
All doubts would be effaced.

The "tilma" Juan presented him,
And great was Juan's surprise!
Bishop Zamarraga knelt down
With reverence in his eyes.

The roses, they were beautiful;
On the coarsely-woven cloak,
Lo! A figure of God's Mother!
Awe-stricken, no one spoke.

The Lady in the picture wears
A mantle of blue-green;
Abundant of gold and flower-like tints.
In this painting can be seen.

Our Lady of Guadalupe
Stands there in perfect grace.
In the hearts of all her children
She holds a sacred place.

Sr. St. Stanislas, C.D.P.

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The Virgin of Guadalupe

The good Jehovah, dread, magnificent,
Once chose a people whom he called his own,
And out of Egypt in a wondrous way
He brought them in a dark and troublous
And Moses touched the Red Sea with a rod,
And the waves parted, offering them a path,
His people passed, but in the abyss remained
Egyptian horse and rider who pursued.
Marched on the flock of Jacob, and the Lord
Spread over them his all protecting wings,
As the lone eagle shields her unfledged young,
He gave them lands, and victories, and spoils -
Glad nation! Which the Master of the heavens
Loved as the very apple of his eye.
But now this people, seeing themselves blessed
By him whose slightest glance they not
Erected perishable images
In homage unto strange and pagan gods.
The Lord in indignation said: "They wished
To make their Maker jealous with vain gods,
Bowing in dust the sacrilegious knee
Before the dumb creation of their hands,
Well, I will sting their hearts with jealousy,
Showing myself to all unhappy lands
Without employing vail or mystery."
He said it, and his solemn word fulfilled,
Convoking from the farthest ends of the earth
Nations barbarian and civilized -
The Gaul, the Scandinavian, Roman, Greek,
And the neglected race of Mexico,
Whom the Almighty Sovereign loved so well
The holy truth he would reveal to them -
So that the hard hearts of his people should
Be softened. Yet his mercy was not full:
Down from the diamond heavens he bade
The Virgin, who with mother's sorrowing care
Nursed him in Bethlehem when he was a child.

Near to the tremulous Tezcoco lake
Rises a bare and solitary hill,
Where never cypress tall nor cedar grows,
Nor whispering oak; nor cooling fountain
The waste of herbless rocks and sterile sand -
A barren country' tis, dry, dusty, sad,
Where the vile worm scarce drags its length

Here is the place where Holy Mary comes
Down from her home above the azure heavens
To show herself to Juan, who, comfortless,
Petitioned for relief from troubles sore.
Sometimes it chances that a fragrant plant
In the dense forest blooms unseen, unknown,
Though bright its virginal buds and rare its
So doth the modest daughter of the Lord
Obscure the moon, the planets, and the stars
Which all adorn her forehead and her feet,
When lends she the poor Indian her grace,
In bounty wonderful to all his kind.
She tenders him the waters and the dew,
Prosperity of fruits and animals,
A heart of sensible humility,
And help unfailing in his future need.
The Angel of America resumes
Her radiant flight. With grateful ear he
Twice did he wondering kneel, and twice again
He kissed the white feet of the holy maid.

But did not end God's providence benign:
The Almighty wished to leave to Mexicans
His Mother's likeness by his own great hand,
In token of the love he had for us.
He took the pencil, saying "We will make
In heaven's own image, as we moulded man.
But what was Adam to my beauteous one?"
So saying, drew he with serenest face
The gentle likeness of the Mother-maid.
He saw the image, and pronounced it good.

Since then, with the encircling love of heaven,
A son she sees in every Mexican.
Mildly the wandering incense she receives,
Attending to his vow with human face;
For her the teeming vapors yield their rain
To the green valley and the mountain side,
Where the bend and wave the abundant harvest
And the green herbs that feed the lazy kine.
She makes the purifying breezes pass,
And on the restless and unsounded seas
She stills the rigor of the hurricane.
The frighten people see the approach of death
When the broad earth upon its axis shakes,
But the wild elements are put to sleep,
With but a smile from her mild countenance.
And she has moved the adamantine heart
Of avarice, who saw decrepit age
Creep like an insect on the dusty earth,
To open his close-shut hand, and bless the poor.
She maketh humbly kneel and kiss the ground
No less the wise than simple. She the great,
Dazzled by their own glory, doth advise
That soon their gaudy pageant shall be o'er,
And heaven's oblivion shall dissolve their

How often has the timid, trembling maid
Upon the verge of ruin sought thy help,
Shutting her eyes to pleasure and to gold
At thought of thee, O Maiden pure and meek!
Centuries and ages will have vanished by,
Within their currents bearing kings and men;
Great monuments shall fall; the pyramids
Of lonely Egypt moulder in decay;
But time shall never place its fatal hand
Upon the image of the Holy Maid,
Nor on the pious love of Mexico.

Manuel Carpio
Catholic World. Volume 13.
Pages 189-195.
May 1871.

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To The Most Holy Virgin Under the Invocation of Guadalupe

From her eternal palace, from the heavens,
One day descended to America,
When in its worst affliction, the great Mary,
Its sorrows to maternally console.
Behold in Tepeyac how watchfully
She frustrates the designs of heresy,
How she extinguishes the fire that flames
From the far French unto the Indian soil!
What matter, then, if proud Napoleon,
With his infernal hosts the world appalling,
Seeks to possess the land of Mexico?
To arms, countrymen: war, war!
For the sacred palladium of Guadalupe
Protects our native land.

The deity of peace have painters skilled
Portrayed with bounteous grace and elegance,
Painting a virgin who with fair white hands
An offering of tender blossoms bore.
Thus were their pencils' finest excellences
A promise and foreshadowing of this,
The image of Our Lady, which in heaven
Received its colors. Thus beheld it he,
The fortunate Indian, at Tepeyac,
That bare and desolate hill, a miracle,
That unto day has been perpetuate.
Now while the world's ablaze with lively war,
Seems that affrighted peace has taken refuge
Within the happy households of our land.

Manuel Navarrete
Catholic World
Volume 13. Pages 189-195.
May 1871.

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La Virgen de Guadalupe

Of Guadalupe, that fair image pictured
Unto the venerating eye of Mexico;
With stars and light adorned, the figure paint-
Of a most modest Maiden, full of grace;
What image is it? Copy 'tis divine
Of the Mother of God.

And what assures me this? My tender thought.
Who the design conceived? The holiest love.
Who then portrayed it? The eternal God.

Fr. Manuel Sartorio
Catholic World
Volume 13. Pages 189-195.
May 1871

Our Lady of Guadalupe

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