92. Flowers for the Altar

Sise! the sun beyond the hill
Is dipping, dipping down
Right above that old Scotch fir,
Just like a golden crown.

Children! qiiiek, and come with me,
Handfuls of cowslips brin<»:,
Hawthorn bright with boughs of white,
And mayfiowers from the spring.

Lucy has fresh shoots of thyme
From her own garden plot;
Jacob's lilac has been stripped —
A gay and goodly lot 1

To Saint Wilfrid's we will go,
And give them to the priest;
He must deck our Lady's shrine
To-morrow for the feast.

Poor indeed the flowers we give,
But we ourselves are poor;
Payment for each gift to her
Is plentiful and sure.

By the picture Lucy loves
Hail-Maries will we say.
And for him who's far at sea
Most fervently we'll pray.

When I kneel in that sweet place
I cannot help but cry;
Then she seems to smile on me
Doubly through her bright eye.

Quick! the cock upon the spire
Shines with his gleamy tail;
He's the last who sees the sun
In all this happy vale.

God be praised, who sent the faith
To these lone fields of ours.
And God's Mothei, too, who takes
Our little tithe of flowers.