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St. Mary's
By Abram Joseph Ryan
Back to where the roses rest
Round a shrine of holy name,
(Yes -- they knew me when I came)
More of peace and less of fame
Suit my restless heart the best.
Back to where long quiets brood,
Where the calm is never stirred
By the harshness of a word,
But instead the singing bird
Sweetens all my solitude.
With the birds and with the flowers
Songs and silences unite,
From the morning unto night;
And somehow a clearer light
Shines along the quiet hours.
God comes closer to me here --
Back of ev'ry rose leaf there
He is hiding -- and the air
Thrills with calls to holy prayer;
Earth grows far, and heaven near.
Every single flower is fraught
With the very sweetest dreams,
Under clouds or under gleams
Changeful ever -- yet meseems
On each leaf I read God's thought.
Still, at times, as place of death,
Not a sound to vex the ear,
Yet withal it is not drear;
Better for the heart to hear,
Far from men -- God's gentle breath.
Where men clash, God always clings:
When the human passes by,
Like a cloud from summer sky,
God so gently draweth nigh,
And the brightest blessings brings.
List! e'en now a wild bird sings,
And the roses seem to hear
Every note that thrills my ear,
Rising to the heavens clear,
And my soul soars on its wings
Up into the silent skies
Where the sunbeams veil the star,
Up -- beyond the clouds afar,
Where no discords ever mar,
Where rests peace that never dies.
So I live within the calm,
And the birds and roses know
That the days that come and go
Are as peaceful as the flow
Of a prayer beneath a psalm.
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