Fain would I sing, O Mother blest! the reasons why I love thee; Why e’en to name thy name, with joy, O Mary! fills my heart; And why the glorious thoughts of thee, in greatness far above me, Inspire no fear within my soul, so dear and sweet thou art. Yet, if I were to see thee now, in majesty stupendous, Surpassing all the crowned saints in highest heaven above, Scarce could I dream I am thy child, (O truth sublime, tremendous!), For I should think myself to be unworthy of thy love. The mother, who desires to be her child’s best earthly treasure, Queen of my heart! how many years, thy sorrows had no measure; What bitter tears thine eyes have shed, my worthless heart to gain! So, musing on thy earthly life, in Scripture’s sacred story, I dare to look upon thy face, and unto thee draw nigh; For when I see thee suffering, — concealed thy marvelous glory — It is not hard, then, to believe thy little child am 1. Must ever share its grief with it, must understand its pain. O Virgin, pure, immaculate! O Mother, tenderest, dearest! Hearing these words that Jesus spake, this time thou wast not grieved. No! thy great heart it leaped for joy, O thou His friend the nearest! Because our longing souls likewise to kinship He received. Oh, how thy heart is glad to know His love to us is given, — The treasure, that cannot be weighed, of His Divinity! Who shall not love thee well to-day, and bless thee in high heaven, Seeing thy tender care for us, thy generosity! For truly thou dost love us all as thy Child Jesus loves us; And for our sake thou didst consent to stay when He had risen. Since, if we love, then all to give, e’en self, both tries and proves us, So thou, to prove thy love, didst stay in earth’s dark, dreary prison. Thy love for souls our Saviour knew, that love His heart had sounded; He left thee to us when He went to God’s right hand on high. Refuge of sinners! on thy prayers how many hopes are grounded! Christ gave thee to us from His cross; for us He hears thy cry. Henceforth thy shelter in thy woe was St. John’s humble dwelling; The son of Zebedee replaced the Son Whom heaven adored. Naught else the Gospels tell us of thy life, in grace excelling; It is the last they say of thee, sweet Mother of my Lord! But that deep silence, oh! I think it means that, up in glory, When time is past, and into heaven thy children safe are come, The Eternal Word, my Mother dear, Himself will tell thy story, To charm our souls, thy children’s souls, in our eternal home. Soon I shall hear that harmony, that blissful, wondrous singing; Soon, soon, to heaven that waits for us, my soul shall swiftly fly.
Roman Catholic Ordinary Calendar – rosary,team
