Mary Sullivan

Our Lady of the Rosary, our true and loving Queen,

You see from heaven many things, which to us are unseen.

To the weapon of your rosary, may we in haste now run.

For through the holy Rosary, this battle can be won.

 

There’s a battle waging, Mary.  It’s not fought with swords and guns.

It’s a battle for the human soul.  At times we feel outdone.

Yet with your holy rosary, as we lift our prayers to you,

You can crush the enemy.  We trust that is what you will do.

 

Our Lady of the Rosary, we ask of you this day.

Make haste now to our loved ones.  Keep all evil at bay.

Touch their hearts now, Mary.  As our rosaries we pray.

Bring them back to Jesus, back to His love today.

 

Our Lady of the Most Holy Rosary, pray for us and for those we love.

Zechariah and Elizabeth, both righteous in God’s eyes,

Observed the commandments, were advanced in years, and wise.

Through all their days of marriage, for a child they had longed.

But Elizabeth was barren.  Not one child had she borne.

 

Inside the sanctuary, incense had begun to burn.

Zechariah saw an angel.  Something great he was to learn.

The angel said of fear, he ought to have none.

His prayer had been heard by God.  His wife would bear a son.

 

His son would be great.  So said the angel’s voice.

His son was to be named John. At his birth, many would rejoice.

Because of him, many hearts, for the Lord would yearn.

Through him many souls, to the Lord would turn.

He would drink no strong drink.  Nor would he drink of wine.

All these things would be fulfilled, in their proper time.

 

Lord, help us honor Your commands, let us make haste to pray.

Your time may not be our time.  In Your timing we trust today.

Our loved ones belong to You.  In Your time they will flower,

Until then, we persevere.  We pray through each passing hour.

 

We wait, like Zechariah. Our patience is a must.

Your time is not our time, Lord.  In You, we place our trust.

Zechariah waited prayerfully for the birth of His Son.

We pray for a new birth in Christ for each of our loved ones.

 

 

 

 

 

I lay this sorrow, Lord, at the foot of Your cross.

Yet another sorrow come my way, yet another loss.

I unite this sorrow to that suffering which You Yourself endured.

Unite it to Your sweating blood in Gethsemane, my dear Lord.

 

I unite this sorrow to the scourging by which your skin was shred,

I unite it to the thorns which pierced your badly bloodied head.

I unite this sorrow to the cross which was so bravely by You borne.

And to Your crucifixion, at which You were mocked with scorn.

 

I unite all my pain, to the pain You know so well.

I unite it to Your sacrifice, of which the Scriptures tell.

You suffered in great agony; I ponder this anew.

For Your suffering sweet Jesus, I place all my trust in You.

Jesus had addressed them.  A parable He told.

To teach them true humility, this story would unfold.

Two men were in the temple.  There they had gone to pray.

A Pharisee and tax collector—to God some things they’d say.

 

The Pharisee told the Lord how he did things so well.

The head of the Pharisee likely began to swell.

He said he wasn’t greedy.   Adultery he’d not commit.

He fasted and he tithed.  He was proud to admit.

 

Now off at a distance, the tax collector’s head was bowed.

With lowered head he beat his breast.  He said—perhaps out loud:

“O God to me be merciful.”  He told the Lord he was a sinner.

Through repentance he gained peace with God.  He emerged as winner.

 

The tax collector went back home.  He had been justified.

But to that Pharisee, justification was denied.

That man who exalts himself, finds only he has stumbled.

As time goes by, he’s sure to find by God he will be humbled.

 

The humble man who turns to God, of earth he’ll be its salt.

The Lord Himself will lift him up.  The Lord will him exalt.

Dear Father, keep us humble in all we say and do.

Help us clearly see our sins, that we may repent too.

 

Grant to us and our loved ones, grace to be sanctified.

In humility may we repent.  Thereby be justified.

[Based on Luke 18:9-14]

 

How could I bear a crown of gold when the Lord bears a crown of thorns?
And bears it for me! (St. Elizabeth of Hungary)

How could we bear a crown of gold,
When our Lord bore a crown of thorns?
How could we wish for regal clothes,
When our Lord’s clothes were ripped and torn?

How can we reject the scourges of life,
When He brings us such grace and strength?
How can we not carry our cross,
And carry it for its full length?

How could we reject being crucified,
How could we embrace selfish living?
How could we not want to give all we have,
To the Lord Who is loving and giving?

How could we want only pleasant words,
Where the Lord heard mocking and scorn?
How could we wish for a crown of gold,
When our Lord’s crown was made of thorns?

Give us the crown of thorns, dear Lord,
Fix it upon our heads.
Let us be scourged with You, our Lord,
For all the blood that You shed.

Let us no longer fear the cross,
To lift it, let’s have no delay.
We offer it as a sacrifice,
For loved ones lost and astray.

We offer our cross in atonement.
Lord, use it for good today.