Thus twenty Centuries of time shall be,
O gracious Mother, fraught with care for thee;
Through persecution, strife and calumny,
Through good report and evil destiny,
The Bride thou cheerest on to victory.
The Bride of Jesus, who is bound to be
The sharer of His Cross. Ah, verily,
Through all Time's ages, is she found to be
A mark for buffets, blows and contumely,
In birth-throes torn with anguish, woefully.
In birth-throes of her children, who will be
Her heaviest burthen, rending endlessly
The seamless Garment woven for her by Thee;
Yea, mangling all her limbs, 'till she shall be
Unrecognisable, in verity.
The Bleeding Spouse she follows, following Thee
Along the rugged steeps of Calvary:
All glorious within, though outwardly
Inglorious, travel stained, as they must be
Who fight for freedom, or for victory.
O Ark of Indestructibility:
The Hidden Manna lies enshrined in thee
That daily falls from Heaven. No enemy
Can thee detain in vile captivity,
No wound may deadly prove, afflicting thee.
When on the height of gruesome Calvary
Was lifted up the Sign that set us free,
The King's last Act of Love, in mystery,
Opened His Side; and, sacramentally,
Gave to the world His Bride that was to be.
And now with Holy John, behold, and see
The Bride descending in the panoply
Of Glory Uncreated. Fair is she
Adorned for bridal, in His radiancy
Who chose and loved her from eternity.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote