CAPG's Blog 

An humble priest, across the fields
His journey turned one day,
And where the plain to forests yields,
He saw the children play.


With yearning heart, quite nigh he drew,
And spoke in kindly tone,
Of One whose love a way well knew,
To make them all His own.


For He, though God, a child became,
All souls on earth to save;
And in rich payment for the same,
His Precious Blood He gave.


Yet when He died He left us not,
But still with us to stay
A miracle of love He wrought,
Which is renewed each day.


Within the Church sweet Jesus dwells,
And hears the children pray;
And listens to what each one tells,
And does what each may say.


Straightway from out that children-group
One hastened to the church;
And passing where the arches droop,
He entered by the porch.


Now kneeling on the altar high,
To which, by stool he rose,
The tabernacle door so nigh
He beat with gentle blows.


Then bending close the curl-robed ear,
“Good Jesus, art Thou there?”
He asked, and paused a word to hear,
But no sound broke the air.


And then again, the innocent
Tapped softly at the door,
And once again with head low bent,
He listened as before.


No answer came! “He’s fast asleep,
Dear Jesus is; and so
Beside Him very still I’ll keep:
He’ll waken soon, I know.”


Then from within a voice was heard:
“What wouldst thou, little one?”
The child by this to gladness stirred
Felt now his mission done.


“My father is not good to Thee,
And does not go to Mass.
Dear Jesus, grant this now to me:
That sin from him may pass.”


“It shall be so.” What joy to know
His father’s soul should live!
Like grace on us will richly flow
If we let Jesus give.

By Mortimer E. Twomey

Source: The Rosary Magazine, April, 1894.

pp. 953-4.