Clothed with the Sun, a Woman, lo, we see,
Receptacle of unborn Entity;
The Burning Bush, yet unconsumed is she;
The Vessel of God's awful Purity,
Mirror of Indestructibility.
High wert thou throned from all eternity,
Yet higher clombest through integrity;
The Sunshine sought and rested still on thee
And drew thee heavenward to Himself, to be
The Ray-begetting: glory be to thee.
Thou wert the Dewdrop resting lowlily
Upon the Flower of our Humanity;
The Sunshine found and penetrated thee
'Till all His hues refracted were in thee;
Then placed thee in the cloud, our Rain to be.
Rain down, O Fair One; let the Just One be
Thy gift in tears to our humanity;
Rain down the drops the Sunshine found in thee;
And of the countless graces poured on thee,
Oh, rain on us the dew of purity.
Open, O Earth; one spot of thine is free
From the dire curse of man's deformity:
Open and give; thy Maker calleth thee
To render back in its integrity
The faultless Creature that lies hid in thee.
Rise up, O Fair One, earth is not for thee;
For thee no law exists to hinder thee
From entering His Presence valiantly:
Thou art His Firstborn, and He loveth thee;
Thou art His Pure Conception; hail, to thee.
Mount up, mount up, time presses; thou must be
Ere long the partner of His Majesty;
Thou Giver of His sweet Humanity;
Thou Shadow of His sacred Infancy;
Thou Mother of His Sorrows - hail, to thee.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote