Oh, thought to set the coldest heart on fire;
Oh, thought to cheer the most despondent breast;
A thousand times within the regions blest—
A thousand times the bright angelic choir
Have heard my name in accents of desire,
To Jesus' ear, by Mary's lips addressed:
And always coupled with some grand request,
Some grace, not all my life-toil could acquire;
And with such pleading in her voice and eyes,
Persuasive grace, maternal majesty,
That he, who ne'er her slightest wish denies—
Although the boon be far too great for me,
Unworthy as he knows me—he replies,
‘As thou dost will, my Mother, let it be.’