A Hymn in Honor of the Holy Family

A thousand lights their glory shed
On shrines and altars garlanded;
While swinging censers dusk the air
With perfumed prayer.

And shall we sing the ancestry
Of Jesus, Son of God most High?
Or the heroic names retrace
Of David’s race?

Sweeter is lowly Nazareth,
Where Jesus drew His childish breath—
Sweeter the singing that endears
His hidden years.

An Angel leads the pilgrim band
From Egypt to their native land,
Where Jesus clings to Joseph’s arm,
Secure from harm.

“And the Child grew in wisdom’s ken
And years and grace with God and men;”
And in His father’s humble art
Took share and part.

"With toil", saith He, “my limbs are wet,
Prefiguring the Bloody Sweat:”
Ah! how He bears our chastisement
With sweet content!

At Joseph’s bench, at Jesus’ side,
The Mother sits, the Virgin-Bride;
Happy, if she may cheer their hearts
With loving arts.

O Blessed Three! who felt the sting
Of want and toil and suffering,
Pity the needy and obscure
Lot of the poor.

Banish the “pride of life” from all
Whom ampler wealth and joys befall:
Be every heart with love repaid
That seeks your aid.

Glory to Thee, Jesu dear,
Model of holy living here!
Who reign’st, with Sire and Holy Ghost,
O’er heaven’s host.
Amen.