Абрам Джозеф Райан (Abram Joseph Ryan)

Feast of the Sacred Heart

Two lights on a lowly altar;
 Two snowy cloths for a Feast;
Two vases of dying roses;
 The morning comes from the east,
With a gleam for the folds of the vestments
 And a grace for the face of the priest.

The sound of a low, sweet whisper
 Floats over a little bread,
And trembles around a chalice,
 And the priest bows down his head!
O'er a sign of white on the altar --
 In the cup -- o'er a sign of red.

As red as the red of roses,
 As white as the white of snows!
But the red is a red of a surface
 Beneath which a God's blood flows;
And the white is the white of a sunlight
 Within which a God's flesh glows.

Ah! words of the olden Thursday!
 Ye come from the far-away!
Ye bring us the Friday's victim
 In His own love's olden way;
In the hand of the priest at the altar
 His Heart finds a home each day.

The sight of a Host uplifted!
 The silver-sound of a bell!
The gleam of a golden chalice.
 Be glad, sad heart! 'tis well;
He made, and He keeps love's promise,
 With thee all days to dwell.

From his hand to his lips that tremble,
 From his lips to his heart a-thrill,
Goes the little Host on its love-path,
 Still doing the Father's will;
And over the rim of the chalice
 The blood flows forth to fill

The heart of the man anointed
 With the waves of a wondrous grace;
A silence falls on the altar --
 An awe on each bended face --
For the Heart that bled on Calvary
 Still beats in the holy place.

The priest comes down to the railing
 Where brows are bowed in prayer;
In the tender clasp of his fingers
 A Host lies pure and fair,
And the hearts of Christ and the Christian
 Meet there -- and only there!

Oh! love that is deep and deathless!
 Oh! faith that is strong and grand!
Oh! hope that will shine forever,
 O'er the wastes of a weary land!
Christ's Heart finds an earthly heaven
 In the palm of the priest's pure hand.

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