Fly, messengers that find no rest
Save in such toil as makes man blest!
Your home is God's immensity;
We hold you but at His behest.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD
By James Jeffrey Roche
The hands of the King are soft and fair
They never knew labor's strain
The hands of the Robber redly wear
The bloody brand of Cain.
But the hands of the Man are hard and scarred
With the scars of toil and pain.
The slaves of Pilate have washed his hands
As white as a kings might be.
Barrabas with wrists unfettered stands
For the world has made him free.
But Thy palms toil-worn by nails are torn,
O Christ, on Calvary.
AVE MARIA
By John Jerome Rooney
Lady, thy soldier I would be,
This day I choose thy shield,
And go, thrice-armored for the fight,
Forth to the world's wide field.
