A Series of Poems

By Kate Watkins Furman
Copyright 2003. All Rights Reserved.



The Priest, the portal in this world,
Through which the Christ will pass,
Unfolding like a snow white rose
In Priestly hands at Mass.

Our Lady's consecrated son,
One chosen from all men,
To baptize, marry, lay to rest
And heal us of our sin.

His sacrifice no equal knows,
His value beyond cost,
For with him we have everything,
Without him we are lost !



Was on one cold dark winterís night
When fell a gentle rain,
I sat, alone, to rest inside
St. Katharineís Church in Wayne.

And where Our Lady stands against
The granite wall of gray,
There walked into the chapel light
A priest who came to pray.

His long black dress was trimmed in red
His face was sweet and fair,
With love, he asked her for her grace
And holy was his prayer.

He gazed into his Motherís face
And prayed the longest while,
There taking from the Mystic Rose
The blessing of her smile.

And in my heart I surely knew
As true as truth could be,
The holy prayer he whispered there
Was said for you and me.


Oh, Bride of Christ, youíre beautiful !
So radiant your face!
Crowned in love by holy priests,
Your raiment spun of grace.

Attended to by angel choirs
That ever sing your praise,
The Mother of the blessed saints
Who wisely chose your ways.

Protector of the Eucharist,
Beloved of the Queen,
The keeper of the Flame of Faith,
The door to truths unseen.

Pure Flower of the Spring of Life,
The soulís sweet lullaby.
Oh, Godís most gracious gift to man
Through you how blest am I !



Oh, Mother hold me near your heart
And sing a lullaby,
Do bless me with your holy love
To still the tears I cry.

These precious days I have with you
Too quickly hurry by,
Up on the hill the wild tree grows
The cross on which Iíll die !


When Jesus was a little child,
As eveningís shadows lay,
The holy Virgin held Him close,
For tired was He from play.

And Heaven sent in shining white
The angels to their King,
Who kissed His precious baby hands
Then knelt to pray and sing.

The flowers bloomed to hear their song
This tender lullaby,
That graced the fields with gentle peace
As darkness hushed the sky.

The loving little Jesus child
Would drift away to sleep,
But holy Mary held Him close
And bowed her head to weep.



Our Lady held our Lord, so dear,
And so He wouldnít cry,
She rocked Him gently in her arms
And sang a lullaby.

Beneath the Star of Bethlehem
She held Him close, to sing
The holiest of melodies
To soothe the newborn King.

Now floating down through all the years
That song so pure and mild,
Is sung in every motherís heart
And heard by every child !

Queen In Whom My Heart Rejoices

Queen in whom my heart rejoices,
Tower of Ivory, Mystic Rose,
Dream of God from all creation
One that He in wisdom chose.

Mother of mankindís Redeemer
Gate of Heaven, Morning Star,
Natureís one pure shining virtue
The Immaculate you are !

Queen in whom my heart rejoices,
One that God Himself has crowned,
Font of Grace and Help of Christians
Holy Virgin most renowned.

Queen of the Holy Rosary
And satanís dreaded foe,
Lead us to the Christ that loves us,
That dear Christ who loves you so !

Queen in whom my heart rejoices,
Oh, pray and never cease,
All be consecrated to you
Our Lady, Queen of Peace !


The Mother of Our Lord

Most beautiful of Godís creation
Queen of every tribe and nation,
Let us sing this sweet oblation
To the Mother of Our Lord.

Co-Redemptrix, loved the most
By Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
Forever praised by Heavenís Host
Oh, the Mother of Our Lord.

Mediatrix of all graces
Healer of all sin defaces,
Fountain of the barren places,
This the Mother of Our Lord !

Humility and peace, her crown
The Blessed Virgin most renown,
No purer creature ever found,
Than the Mother of Our Lord !

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