Where unforgiving thorns impound,
teeth of the wretched hellhound,
lift up thine eyes, look around,
for the Mystical Rose is near,
her beauty dispelling all thy fear.
Sit upon her bed, be thou still,
ponder the mercy of Divine Will.
Let her petals wipe away every tear;
follow her fragrance now to the clear.
In her sunlit meadow, grazing deer
and soaring songbirds abound,
forgiveness their joyful sound,
that everywhere lost ones may hear
“Beloved, thee have I found;
rise now, and be of good cheer.”
Yes, my sweet child,
on whom the Dayspring smiled,
in that meadow, meek and mild,
see the Rose so tender,
all aglow with Divine splendour,
in her embrace, simply surrender.
Asleep, under her mantle shall thee be hid
from the crooked thief, so sordid,
that in safety thou mayest abide
ever by her Immaculate side
swiftly sailing ‘cross the divide
to dwell in Love, the Heart crucified.