St. Mona's Lambs
ST. MONA'S LAMBS.
Deep in the Irish forest's leafy shade
The holy Monacella knelt and prayed:
"Have mercy, Lord, on what Thy hands have made!"
And as she knelt a little, wounded hare,
Sore spent and hotly press'd, came limping there,
While rang the hounds' fierce baying through the air.
One bitter glance the hunted creature threw,
Then, as the pack came straining into view,
Quick to the virgin's pitying bosom flew.
There nestled panting, while the royal maid,
Uplifting her soft finger-tip, forbade
The dogs' approach, and trembling they obeyed.
And I have heard that ever since that day
"St. Mona's lambs" the little children say,
As from their path the wild hare scuds away.
But if pursued, oh! then say pityingly,
"God and St. Monacella succor thee!"
And the dear Saint its advocate will be.