Mother, upon my lips today,
Christ's Precious Blood was laid;
That Blood which centuries ago,
Was for my ransom paid.
And half in love, and half in fear
I seek for aid from thee,
Lest what I worship, wrapt in awe,
Should be profaned by me.
Wilt thou vouchsafe, as Portress dear,
To guard those lips today?
Lessen my words of idle worth
And govern all I say.
Keep back the sharp and quick retort
That rise so easily;
Soften my speech with gentle art,
To sweetest charity.
Check thou the laugh or careless jest,
That others harsh may find;
Teach me the thoughtful words of love,
That soothe the anxious mind.
Put far from me all proud replies,
And each deceitful tone,
So that my words at length may be
Faint echoes of thine own.
Oh Mother, thou art mine today,
By more than double right:
A soul where Christ reposed must be
Most precious in thy sight.
And thou canst hardly think of me
From thy dear Son apart;
Then give me from myself and sin,
A refuge in thy heart.
~ From an old prayer card ~
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