An October Rosary

I. Joy
The waiting hours creep silently across the shining skies;
Beneath their soft and dusky shade a deeper mystery lies:
Beneath the stars of Bethlehem, lo! Other Lights arise.

"Glory to God in heaven above; on earth good-will to men!"
Hark! All about the sleeping world the angels sing again.
How joyful now the Mother kneels, heaven in her happy eyes,
Under the stars on Bethlehem, beneath the open skies!

II. Pain
If thou hadst known, when on thy heart the Babe of Bethlehem lay,
How sharp the pang thou shouldst be called to bear one woeful day;
For all thy blessedness gone by--alas, O Mother true!
When on the cross His heart was pierced, thine own was riven too!

III. Glory
The heavens beneath her feet are spread, the suns die dim before;
Love hath been given to love again, and Grief hath died of its own pain:
Above the starry skies
The Mother, glorious, reigneth o'er the courts of Paradise.

M.J. Malloy
Catholic World, volume 58, page 110.
October 1893

 

October: Month of the Rosary

Say, dearest Mother Mary, can it be
That, having May, thou claim'st
October, too?
The flowers of spring we plucked and
gave to thee,
And these sad leaves of autumn wilt
thou sue?

When evenings first were lengthening,
calm and warm,
We lit thy altars gay with lily-bloom;
Now falls the night full swift, with
lowering storm,
And still thy tapers stay the advancing
gloom.

'Tis thine, and ten times welcome,
Mother dear!
This ripe and crisp October month is
thine,
What though our flowers and leaves be
scant and sere?
The Calendar of Love knows no
decline.
Accept these autumn wreaths, our
chaplets bright
With crimson, yellow-stained, like
sunset skies.
O Star of Morn! Be still our star at night,
And bless our fading years, as thou
didst bless their rise.

Ryan Tipperary
Catholic School Journal, volume 50, page 245
October 1950

 

Madonna of the Rosary
II Sassoferrato, 1609-1685

October Offering to Mary

In spring, we laid a blossom at your feet,
The lovely May, O dearest Lady. Now
We offer you October, ripe and sweet,
A ruddy apple from the spirit's bough!
It is our love which gives this fruit its glow;
Its flavor is our daily rosary;
Our Masses nourished it and helped it grow:
It sprang from our joined hearts as from a tree.

Kind Mother, take within your hands today
This apple of devotion we have grown,
And as you give it to your dear Son say
That it is fruit from seed His hand has sown.
We offer you October, bright and firm:
Oh, may this apple hold no blight, no worm!

Virginia Moran Evans
The Magnificat
October 1953

October Prayer

Mother, at thy feet is kneeling
One who loves thee--it's thy child
Who has sighed so oft' to see thee;
Bless me, Mother, Mother mild.
And when storms are raging round me,
And when tempests hover near,
In thy own sweet arms enfold me;
Shield me, Mother, Mother dear.
Mother, when my Savior calls me
From this world of sin and strife,
Clasp me upon thy spotless bosom;
Let me bid farewell to life.
Plead for me when Jesus judges,
Answer for me when He asks
How I've spent so many moments,
How performed so many tasks.
Tell Him I was weak and feeble;
Yes, that I so often strayed
From the thorny path of virtue
To the one with roses laid.
Yet, O Mother, tell my Jesus
That I loved Him fond and true;
And, O Mother, dearest Mother,
Tell Him I belong to you.
Then He'll place me (yes, I feel it)
Close to thee, O Mother dear;
Then I'll praise and bless and thank thee
Thru eternity's long years.

Catholic Telegraph Register
October 4, 1957

 
Autumn Prayer to Mary

I came to thee when life's sweet maybells rang
And bright-eyed daisies in the field were seen,
When youthland's thrush its morning carol sang
And bridal birch trees in festive green;
I whispered prayers in deep childlike trust:
My soul was unsoiled by sin's gray dust.

I came to thee again in life's high noon,
When heart and eye burned in ambition's glow,
When first success set up its gay festoon,
And distant stars appeared so near and low;
I spoke my prayers loud, triumphantly,
Yet with a secret fear that haunted me.

I come once more now that life's dusk is nigh
And offer thee my weary heart's last love;
My eyes grow dimmer and more dark the sky,
All earth's enchantments vanish while above
I see thy face and hear thee beckon me:
Come, rest thy head upon thy mother's knee.

Frederick M. Lynk
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry.
Poughkeepsie, New York: Marist Press, 1944.

 
Our Lady of October

Our Lady of October!
How fitting such a name,
Now when the woods in grandeur
Put on their cloaks of flame.

It is to do you honor,
Before woods come to die;
They celebrate love's token:
Your holy Rosary.

We seem to see you standing
Down each dim, golden lane,
By the harvest moon enhaloed,
In nature's forest-fane,

While mellow earth soft raises
Its evening prayer on high,
And we repeat the Aves
Of your dear Rosary.

O Lady of October,
When death's autumn time is nigh,
May our golden key to Heaven
Be your holy Rosary.



Charles J. Quirk
Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine.
Poughkeepsie, New York: Marist Press, 1946.

 

Queen of the Holy Rosary

Queen of the Holy Rosary!
Thee as our Queen we greet,
And lay our lowly, loving prayers
Like roses at thy feet.
Would that these blossoms of our souls
Were far more fair and sweet.

Queen of the Joyful Mysteries!
Glad news God's envoy bore.
The Baptist's mother thou didst tend;
Angels thy Babe adore,
Whom with two doves thou ransomest;
Lost, He is found once more.

Queen of the Dolorous Mysteries!
Christ 'mid the olives bled,
Scourged at the pillar, crowned with thorns,
Beneath His Cross He sped
Up the steep hill; and there once more
Thine arms embraced Him--dead!

Queen of the Glorious Mysteries!
Christ from the tomb has flown,
Has mounted to the highest heaven
And sent His Spirit down
And soon He raises thee on high
To wear thy heavenly crown.

Queen of the Holy Rosary!
We, too, have joys and woes.
May they, like thine, to triumph lead!
May labor earn repose,
And may life's sorrows and life's joys
In heavenly glory close.

Cyril Robert
Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine.
Poughkeepsie, New York: Marist Press, 1946.

 

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