THE VIGIL

In this Your time of mercy Lord
keep Your flame of love alight,
let it burn more brightly
through the day, and through the night.

For where You are, my Lord my God
night and day they are the same,
guide our feet so not to stumble
so our souls we never maim.

We long to be in readiness
to keep our love lights burning bright,
our wicks all trimmed in preparation
for the coming, pure delight.

Let us not be caught without the oil
to greet our Bridegroom sweet,
to be worthy of His Kingdom
when our flames of love do meet.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Apr. 29, 1995

FLOWERS OF THE FIELD

We are little flowers of the Lord
growing down close to the earth,
His Holy Hand reached down one day
new life planted to give birth.

Some grew in sheltered places
untouched by wind, uncrushed by foot,
in pots protected from life’s storms
from dust and raining soot.

They know not of the harsh winds
of the torrent or the flood,
they’re never pounded to the ground
with their beauty in the mud.

The little flowers of the field
kissed by sun, caressed by wind,
made strong by living in His Grace
sturdy in their root and stem.

They delighted once a special child
who picked a sweet bouquet,
and gave it to His mother
whom He loved a perfect way.

In fear one day they trembled
where they grew along the way,
of this same child grown and suffering
for the sins of man to pay.

How they longed to ease His pain
with their beauty and perfume,
but were fastened tightly to the earth
silenced by their fear and gloom.

If they could only gather
at the cross upon the hill,
perfumed cups to catch his precious blood
hearts and souls to drink their fill.

The one thing we can do for Him
be the best that we can be,
give all our beauty and perfume
bloom just for Him eternally.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Apr. 28,1995

THE WAY OF MERCY

From the garden to the hill
a trail of blood His life did spill,
with shouts and stones He trudged along
bruised and battered by the throng.

Betrayed by one who shared His bread
others took to heel and fled,
that he knew Him, one denied
then in sorrow went to hide.

In mockery and scorn they crowned
the Son of God, the Love profound,
they spit and cursed and brutally tore
His garments sealed to every sore.

Oh my wounded, dying Jesus gaze
down from the Cross, upon the fray,
to those who unbeknown to them
have nailed You there with hurtful sin.

To the Son of God no mercy shown
the One who was for mercy known,
we repent in sorrow, ask to forgive
that we, with Him, forever live.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Apr. 09, 1995