BY CANDLELIGHT, TOWARD THE SON; ODE TO MARIAN REFLECTION

                                                                                   Freepik

At dead of night, in silence deep,
While others rest in gentle sleep,
A young man bends with quiet sight,
His page aglow in candlelight.

No idle tale his mind employs,
No passing dream nor fleeting joys -
But words that breathe of heaven above,
Of Mother mild, of steadfast love.

He reads of her, so pure, so fair,
Whose “yes” was breathed through humble prayer;
The chosen one, the stainless Eve,
Who taught a wounded world belief.

The new Eve standing, firm yet mild,
Before the Father’s promised Child;
She bore the Word, she gave Him breath,
Who conquers sin and conquers death.

At Cana’s feast, with watchful eye,
She saw the need that passed them by;
The wine ran dry, the hour unclear,
Yet still she spoke with faith sincere.

“They have no wine,” her voice so low,
Yet filled with trust the world must know;
Though yet the hour seemed not begun,
She turned in hope unto her Son.

“If not now, when?” her silence cried,
No fear nor doubt her heart could hide;
She knew the weight, the path He’d tread,
The crown of thorns, the wine turned red.

Yet still she urged with gentle plea,
A mother’s wise fidelity;
And to the servants, firm yet kind,
She left these words for all mankind:

“Do what He tells you,” clear and true,
No greater path for me or you;
She points not inward to her grace,
But lifts our eyes to Jesus’ face.

And so the reader, still and mild,
Feels stirred within, becomes a child;
For Marian words, both soft and bright,
Lead hearts to Christ, the Living Light.

Some fear her love might cloud the way,
Or draw the soul from Christ astray;
Yet she, so humble, meek, and mild,
Reflects but Him - her God, her Child.

She takes no praise, she claims no throne,
No glory does she call her own;
But like the moon in silent sky,
She shines His light for all nearby.

Thus through the night, that soul is led,
By sacred truths the saints have said;
Till dawn breaks forth with golden ray,
And darkness gently slips away.

For Marian books, in wisdom spun,
Do not conceal the Father’s Son - 
But like her voice at Cana’s feast,
They guide us still to Christ, our Priest.