My fathers' faith doth rise to my lips this sick hour. I pray to thee with mine eyes... Rosaries of anguish. Oh, dower My soul with at least sweet lies - Of thy suffering son's power !

I BOW TO THE GROUND...

Every year, the Queen of Seasons,
Spring arrives in pomp and state.
Yet May there's special reason
To rejoice and celebrate.

Thunderstorms, with wild elation,
Quicken juices, speed up growth.
On this first day of creation
Sunlight floods the pregnant earth.

Forest issue fragrance heady,
Grasses' smell is spicy sweet,
Lakes that sparkle in the meadow
With spring waters are replete.

Overnight the tree buds sprouted
As glad news the village reached;
War is gone, foes surmounted,
Greet the Day of Victory !

Full of song and jubilation,
Sowers went into the fields.
On this first day of creation
Earth's womb open up to seeds.

All mind is in change...