Dear Mother of my God, I come to thee;
Mother of my Creator, look on me;
In sorrow and in tears I turn to thee;
Oh, let thy sweet compassion reach to me,
And all my boldness do thou pardon me.
Mother of Fairest Love, unweariedly
Thy heart hath sought thy daughter, silently;
And all through life that heart mysteriously
Hath drawn mine untamed spirit unto thee,
Until the day-dawn brake and rose on me.
At length thou earnest, Mother, unto me,
When heresy had loosed its hold on me,
And with sweet force thy secret sympathy
My restless soul did draw so wond'rously,
That all my being, Mother, clung to thee.
And now my day is done, I come to thee;
The remnant of my life I give to thee;
All else hath vanished; none remains but thee;
All others weary. Naught is there in me,
For I am nothing; yet I hope in thee.
Oh yes, I hope that surely thou wilt be
Mine Advocate with Him who calleth thee
The Mother of His Love: and utterly,
Sweet Mother, do I trust thy love for me
Who hast, for His dear sake, remembered me.
Then teach my failing voice to sing of thee;
Let my last music ring in praise of thee;
Let these last humble rhymes be full of thee
That, swan-like, this my latest song may be
A sweet and mystic melody to thee.
Then, while I sing this lowly hymn to thee,
Cleanse thou my thoughts, that they may worthily
Express the wonders of that Mystery,
By which our fallen Nature claims to be
United to the Eternal Word, through thee.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote