Help Us Gather Roses

You appeared in a land where many had been slain;
They died in sacrifice during the Aztec reign.

You sought upon a hill, a temple where to show:Compassion, love and help, a place for one to go.

The bishop asked a sign, that truly you had spoke,
You sent an Indian poor, Juan Diego in a cloak.

Twas December and a time, of whitened frost and cold
But there upon that hill, O flowers he did behold!
The abode of thorn it was, where flowers never grew,
A place of stony ground, cactus and thistle too.

He gathered roses there, in the mantle which he wore,
And beauty took from you, to the bishop met before.

From the mantle roses fell, and scattered on the floor...
The bishop's eye it fell, it fell on something more!

On the mantle didst appear, the one without a taint!
O thou that Juan beheld, our mother in heav'nly paint!

                                 *  *  *  *  *  *  *
O help us gather roses, from place of stony ground,
Convert with grace and truth,
                              the heart where abortion's found.

In the temple of the body, help end the human slaughter,
The tiny one destroyed, is someone's son or daughter!

                                                                     --John Riedell


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Site Last Updated on 11/29/13