POETRY.
GRACE BEFORE SLEEP OuR Lord was born in a poor place, Where caravans of travellers lay, But over Him the Virgin's face, Was like my dream of you to-day ; Was like my dream when dawn was there, And still with dawn the lingering night, Unseen, but known in the sweet air, Like bells that ring beyond the sight.
Our Lady Mary was not proud Among poor folk at Bethlehem, But great men waited in the crowd For her kind look to fall on them.
The Syrian merchant paused to heed The prayers of the beggars by the gate; The Roman Lord drew in his steed, To let men pass of low estate.
Red rubies are not made from rust, Yet misers threw their money down, To buy an aureole from the dust And weave themselves an evening crown.
And some there were whose gains were made In ways that honest men despise, Who left the shameful carrion trade Because they saw the Virgin's eyes.
Let Saints implore for worlds to be, And young knights pray for deeds to do.
May Mary of her charity Grant me to-night one dream of you.
BEN KENDIAL
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