Classic Poem

Thee, May and Mother, I entreat
That, by thine intercession sweet,
From out my mouth a truthful lore
In verses smoothly wrought may pour;
That, from my lips both soft and bright,
As if in glowing gold bedight,
The words proclaimed of old may ring;
To God that gift I needs must bring.


This Mary is our Mother bright,
With honour decked, a Flower of might,
And bloometh like a ruddy rose,
Which by a living fountain grows;
A fragrant Root of lowliness;
A Ray of the Spirit's holiness;
She loves but God and who are good;
In virtue is she like to God.


Thou, Mary, art our Mother bright;
Thou, Mary, art with honour dight;
Thou, Mary, beamest bright with love —
O Mary, baleful sin remove;
O Mary, by our faults and fears,
O Mary, heed our flowing tears;
O Mary, our great afflictions calm;
Pour, Mary, o'er our wounds thy balm.


With loving kindness, Mary, deign
My heart to fill, as I would fain,
That, if I might still farther bring
My lay, thy praise therein should ring;
But, higher praise, in verses made
On Christ's dear Mother could ne'er be said,
Than, that thou art by God alone,
O May, in purity outshone.