O Sacred Virgin, wondrous Mystery
Is this New Thing that hath been found in thee:
Let it not be forgotten: carefully,
And with becoming reverence, let us see
The meaning of this New-found Thing in thee.
Oh, that with purer lips I might of thee,
Great Virgin Mother, speak more worthily.
Lo, of thy condescension deign to be
The true Inspirer of my thoughts of thee,
Whilst I with fear am contemplating thee.
Chosen thou hast been from eternity
To be the Healer of Humanity:
When man had fallen away so deep, that he
With eye all bleared, and ear unstrung must be,
With all he touches, sad deformity.
Nothing in him is sacred, nothing free:
Nothing is stedfast, nothing great. Ah me,
Knowledge of evil all unwittingly
Is his - a knowledge bringing misery
To him, fear, suffering, death; so sick is he.
Conceived, created, in God's Image, he
Had upright been and full of dignity,
Noble and pure and clothed with sanctity;
How hath he lost his first estate: yea, see,
Weak, suffering, helpless, dying; dead is he.
What then is this New Thing? this Mystery,
Mother of God, that we shall find in thee?
Lo, Him, the Perfect Man of prophecy,
His Mother's Bosom holds: and what is He?
Power that is weak; Man-veiled in Infancy.
God, who upholdeth all things, helplessly
Stretching His arms for human sympathy;
Life that is dying, Health that is suffering, see.
Length circumscribed; Breadth that must narrow
Word that God is - a speechless Mystery.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote