Queen of the Holy
Rosary, pray for us, that God may add what is missing to this modest Rosary
prayer of his humble servant. You were the one who gave me this handful of
wooden beads in the year of my conversion, in 1905.
I remember experiencing God's presence in the courtyard of the hospital, in
the naïve marching band, the bending movement of the crops under the gentle
breeze, and the women who, when they saw the approaching monstrance, would
kneel and bend their heads like mown hay.
I have prayed my Rosary. I am pressing its simple cross as I am writing
this. I know how much strength I have drawn from it since the day that I
thought I was going to die, until now that, filled with eternal life and
confidence, I am listening to the song of the wind. (…)
I will praise my God, and before him I will press my heart against the
earth. This handful of beads, O Virgin Mary, is the humble sheaf of wheat
it has yielded.
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