If this Christmas finds you burdened,
With no happy, joyous smile;
Maybe Mary being weary
Might rest with you

If in her shelter-seeking,
From Inn to crowded Inn,
She meets but greed and battle,
Hatred , death, and sin.

But finds a humble welcome
In the dwelling of your heart,
Though it bring you pain and sorrow,
Could you ask her to depart?

When submitting, you accept

Her burden with a prayer.....
Oh the glory of your joy
To find the Christ child there!

Mary McDevitt
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. New York: Marist Press, 1944.


(A Child at the Crib)--

It's very cold tonight, dear God,
I wish You had a coat
Of thickest fur
To keep You warm.
But, Jesus, you have her-
You Mother dear--
To hold You tight
With her arms
This Christmas night.
(Mary to the Child)
'Tis you are cold, dear little one;
Your feet are wet with snow
And you have come a long, long way;
Jesus has told me so.
A coat of fur you wished for Him,
But greater will He do.
My Babe, the very Lamb of God,
Will give Himself to you.

Sr. Agnes Mary, M.S.B.T.
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. New York: Marist Press, 1944.


Over the desert,
Led by the Star,
Traveled three holy
Kings from afar.

Weary and long the
Way was for them,
Yet, with God's help, they
Reached Bethlehem.

There they found Jesus,
Lovely God-Child,
Mary and Joseph
Saintly and kind.

Here the three wise men
Humbly adored
Their heavenly King,
Savior and Lord.

Then their most precious
Gifts they unfold:
Myrrh and frankincense,
Purest of gold.

Offering all to
Jesus, whose love
Brought Him to earth from
Heaven above.

Urbonas, Michael J.. One Hundred Religious Rhymes. Erie, PA, 1961.


I know not how, dear Lady love,
To offer you my praise,
I cannot fashion as I wish
The words that I world raise.
You stand afar, celestial Queen,
The stars are in your crown,
They spangle at each gesture's path
And dust upon your gown.
Perhaps I might recall the night
You knelt beside the crib,
The night when doors and casements shut

And left a mountain's rib,
Alone, exposed, to hoard you close
Beside the new-born Child
And seek in Joseph's kindly eyes
For something worldly-mild.
To counteract such mundane chill
I hereby set my heart,
Dim mirror of an Infant's warmth,
Its flaming but a part,
A small, sad part of Endless Love
That came on Christmas day
To show a mother wonder-bright
To guide us on our way.

Author Unknown
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. New York: Marist Press, 1944.


When near to her at Bethlehem
I knelt at Christmastide,
"There is no pillow for thy Son,
No pillow, Lady, for thy Son,"
I said to her, and sighed.

But when I softly turned away
Ant tiptoed from His bed,
The Lady Mary smiled at me,
The Lady Mary smiled to see
(I'd tucked it in so carefully)
My heart beneath His head.

Edith Hume
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. New York: Marist Press, 1944.


The wise astronomers of old
Were men devout, though free;
And heaven's siderial path of gold
Led them, dear Lord, to Thee!

The pole-star of mysterious ray
That drew their yearning souls,
Thanks be to God--as bright today
In faith's blue archway rolls!

When first the little Babe divine,
The Gentile kings adored,
Their homage--burning love benign,--
At Mary's feet was poured.

Thence did it rise to Him she pressed,
In awe and love supreme--
Unto her meek, her sinless breast,
Beneath that Star's pure beam.

Their gold, their frankincense and myrrh,
Were laid at Mary's feet,
As wonderingly they gazed on her
Whose Son they came to greet.

Divine the lesson taught to men
By ancient sages grand;
Homage to God is dearest , when
Received at Mary's hand.

Selected Robert, Cyril.
Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. New York: Marist Press, 1944.

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