Classic Poem

O Queen of virtues, whose sweet pow'r
Does o'er the first perfections tow'r,
Sustaining in the arms of love
All want below, all weal above.

With thee O let my thoughts conceive,
For all the very best believe;
Predict, pronounce for all the best,
And be by bearing all things blest.

To suffer long and still be kind
In holy temperance of mind,
Rejoice that truth is on my side,
As free from envy as from pride.

Both tongues and prophecies shall cease,
And painful knowledge cede to peace;
And time and death o'er all prevail,
But Charity shall never fail.

Then guide, O Christ, this little hand,
To deal thy bounties round the land;
To clothe and feed the hungry poor,
And to the stranger ope my door.

My cup of water, Christ, is free,
For all that love and thirst for thee;
With wisdom many a soul to win,
And loose the irksome bonds of sin.

Make me, O Christ, tho' yet a child,
To virtue zealous, errors mild,
Profess the feelings of a man,
And be the Lord's Samaritan.