S. JOSEPH.

A cloistered garden was the place

Where Mary grew, God's perfect flower;

One, only one, discerned her grace,

And visited her bower.

God's choice was his; by love made strong

To guard the Mother of the King;

No heart, save hers, had e'er a song

So sweet as his to sing.

Yet lives there on the sacred page

No record of a word from him;

God's Ark he guards, a silent sage,

Pure as the Cherubim.

But sweeter than the sweetest word

Recorded of the wise and good,

His silence is a music heard

On high, and understood.

Blessed are all who take their part

Amid the carol-singing throng;

Thrice blest the meditative heart

Whose silence is a song.