Classic Poem

See , to God's high temple above,
Mounts, amid angel-hymns of love,
The mystical Ark of grace!
See aloft, on victory's throne,
Blended together, Mother and Son,
In one eternal embrace!

All the sorrows her bosom bore,
All her pains and afflictions sore,
At length supremely repaid;
There she reigns on the cloudless height.
Only less than the Lord of light,
In hues immortal array'd!

There she lives, as a fount of grace,
Ever flowing for Adam's race,
And still for ever to flow;
There, while ages on ages run,
Sweetly, sweetly she pleads with her Son
For us her children below!

Lady, than all the heavens more high!
More than seraph in purity!
A glance of pity incline.
Teach us to feel, teach us to know,
Teach us in life and death to show,
What treasures of grace are thine.

Look on this Isle from the azure sky,
That bask'd so happy in days gone by,
Beneath thy dovelike reign;
Fallen away from its faith of old,
O, bring it back to the Catholic fold,
And claim thy dowry again.