The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1908-12-19
INSCRIBED to My Mother)

| (EOr Inc lnternOuntaln CdthOHc.)
(By James E. Kinsella, Chicago Post
office Poet.)
INSCRIBED to My MotherD
Suggested by the ilIustrious painter,
Murillo's celebrated picture of the Ma
tivity of the Infant Jesus in the Stable
| of Bethlehem.
Like buoyant birds that scorn the nest,
! And long to try frail, downy wings,
The snow fell on the earth's brown
breast,
The shackled stream a captive, sings.
Hoarse winds are shrieking with de-
light,
Their maniac message all forlorn,
Two thousand years ago tonight.
The Prince of Peace, our Lord, was
born!
Upon the dusk brow of the night,
A splendid star blazed like a gem,
A wind-swept beacon, for it's light,
Flushed the bleak plain of Bethle-
hem.
Gray, hoary sages strained their eyes,
And marveled at it's elfin glow
Our Savior's birth mark in the skies,
The Light that leads us here below.
Housed from the blast in stable rude,
His crib a manger-scurvy bed
He bore it all with fortitude
He had no place to lay Wis head.
Thrust from snug threshold of the inn,
By pampered menials, sleek and
warm.
The King of Kings sought oxen bin,
To shield him from tine shrieking
STORM
Scant welcome had He of His own,
No sumptuous palace greets his quest,
He tames the thunder meath his throne,
He rules the north, the south, the
west
He Yields the lightning's lance of fire,
And hurls the bolt 'thwart shaggy
sea,
He curbs the fierce volcanoes ire,
And bids red roses nurse the bee.
A pure, stainless maid, his mother
smiled,
AS on her breast he nestled warm.
kShe< soothed and cherished and be-
The Dove Divine, who dared the
storm.
No courtiers cringed beneath his nod,
No lackeys fawned upon his word,
Guided like babe the Son of God,
Cooed to his mother like a bird.
The mother gazed upon the Child,
With prescience of the coming years,
Mary the Virgin undefiled,
Smiled at the infant through her
tears.
She saw the cross on Calvary plain,
She heard the dying Savior's moan,
The Crown of Thorns weighed on her
brain,
The Roman legions Knocked His
groan.
And wise men jOurneyed from afar,
To view the wondrous babe divine,
Led by the splendid sparkling star
The Hope of our erring hayward line
An hoary age knelt to the child,
Sole refuge of our guilty race,
The heavenly hostage blithely smiled,
And brought the world celestial grace.
Hope of the world, the sages cried,
The Babe Of which our prophets told,
You crushed the naughty serpents
pride,
And brought the lamb within the fold
Some splendid pagans sang your praise,
Doomed like a thief to die in pain
On Calvary's cross to end your days,
And crucified on Golgotha's plain
And wise men sought the savior's
shrine,
And pilgrims journeyed from afar,
To gaze upon the Babe Divine
AS sailors hail the evening star.
A rude stable was their dwelling place,
Where cattle shivered in the cold,
And yet the shepherds sought his
grace.
Which poets sung, and prophets told.
They prayed to Him in foreign tongue,
Incense they brought Him, rich and
rare,
Jewels and gold, and yet he chung,
The closer to His mothers care.
Her arms then circumscribed His
reign.
And guided well His baby stride,
Safely they shielded Him from pain.
To slumber lulled Him by her side.
Their crystal challenge to the sky,
Keen Christmas bells are fiinging
gay.
Their mellow murmurs, pealing high,
Proclaim their blithesome roundelay.
What matter if our purse is light.
So are our hearts that bear no scorn-
Two thousand years ago tonight.
The Prince of Peace, our Lord, was