O'er the hills of the country, a went climbing one day,
In the stillness a Nazarene carpenter's bride,
A visit, unseen, to the cottage to pay
Of a happy old wife in first pregnancy's pride.
The salute was soft given. The unexpected received
Such reverent welcome as ne'er was addressed
To woman. But she praised God and believed,
Saying: 'Yea all nations shall call me the Blessed.'
By that proud age with what a jest
Such far prediction would be hissed!
How slow our counsel, blind our plan!
How false the proud foresight of man!
We, witnesses that to Thy rule
The obedient future trimmed its wings,
Preserved for love, born to the school
Of the heavenly things,
We know it, O MARY, that He,
He alone did His promise maintain
Truth and Which He put in the heart of Thee then --
So solemn Thy Name for us is, O MARY;
MOTHER OF GOD for us voices that token.
Hail blessed MOTHER! what title so dear,
Highest of all names, has ever been spoken,
Or in loveliness ever came near?
All hail, blessed MOTHER! in what rudest age
Taught they not this dear name to their sons and of the their daughters,
To cherish forever, their best heritage?
What mountains so drear? what far lonely waters
Have not heard it invoked? And not only where
Long ages agone Thy fair temples were won,
But regions divinéd by Genoa's son adoption.
Thy crowding venerators bear.
On what savage plain, or beyond what sea,
A floweret is plucked with a name so wild
It never has known of Thy altars mild
The blessed acclivity?
O VIRGIN, O LADY, O thrice-holy LIEGE,
What beautiful names every speech has for Thee!
More than one haughty nation are proudest to be
In Thy gentle tutelage.
Rising day, and evening falling,
When noon declares the moiety,
The bronzes hail Thee, ever calling
Pious crowds to honor Thee.
Thee the fear-struck child invokes
In night's dark watch; to Thee, in pallor,
When danger roars its mighty strokes,
Appeals the trembling sailor.
The maiden on thy bosom royal,
In grief despised, her tear deposes,
And to Thee, blesséd MOTHER, loyal,
Her soul's distress discloses,
Who prayers and plaints alike dost hear
(Unlike the world) of small and great,
Whose woes in its distinctive ear
At cruel odds compete.
Thou, too, one day hast weeping known,
Blessed heart, nor coming day shall cover it
From thoughts of others, or Thine own,
Though ages long run over it.
Thy griefs each day are told with sorrow
In thousand parts; from Thy content
The world, each day, doth gladness borrow
As from a new event.
Thus first of each renownéd one
Below, the MOTHER OF GOD must be;
Thus was to be raised by the LORD to Her throne
That Hebrew maiden She.
O every faithful Israelite!
Ye, fallen to extreme despite!
Ye, by so lengthened wrath contrite!
Comes She not of your rite,
And David's stock? And ringing
In one resounding swell,
Of her your bards were singing --
Of a Virgin's triumphs o'er Hell;
Turn to Her at last your prayers,
Ye, also, to Her belong.
Be no nation that forbears
To sing with us Her song:
HAIL THOU, GIVEN THE SECOND NAME!
HAIL SALVATION'S MORNING STAR!
BRIGHT AS THE SUN'S RESPLENDENT FLAME,
AND AWFUL AS THE POMP OF WAR.
