Art by Gustav Dore
I celebrate a rosary Each century strung upon a chain forged craftily. Count off the beads in hundred years Then comprehendingly enclose the star hung birth graced with the hopes of Oriental kings and guardians of flocks on barren hills A mother, wondering, and radiant in a manger's straw a new-birthed babe. Jerusalem! Tell of your beads so down the torturous winds of time You yet may hear that host of angels Sing.