Mystical Heaven, thou Throne of Deity;
Thou Seat of our Redemption; verily,
Alone thou teachest how Infinity
Hath circumscribed Himself, in love, to be
The Ransom of thy people. Praise to thee.
Mother of Life, of Beauty, Majesty;
Mouthpiece of Wisdom; oh, how tenderly
That Word couldst thou decypher, on thy knee;
That Word whose Wisdom from eternity,
To be the world's Joy-giver, called thee.
How do they hang in speechless ecstasy
Upon thy voice, O Mary. Verily,
Aglow is every heart this King to see
Before them, in such lowly Majesty -
And overflows with faith and charity.
From far they come this Mystic Child to see,
To tend the homage of the Isles. And He,
Through the sweet words of Mary, graciously
Reveals the Gospel-tidings, that they be
The bearers of the glad solemnity
Each to his own: yet more. Oh, they will be
Themselves the victims of Love's clemency.
For His dear sake, behold: unwittingly
His Cross they take, since they are called to be
The first fruits of His Love - triumphantly.
In gifts of Gold, as King, they worship Thee,
The token, Lord, of that pure charity
Which overflows the hearts that follow Thee:
And sweet Frankincense pour they forth for Thee,
The Great High-Priest from all eternity.
King, Priest and Victim: lo, revealed they see
Athwart the cloud of this solemnity:
The Sceptre and the Star, alike, for Thee
The nimbus form in ancient prophesy.
Frankincense, Gold and Myrrh they offer Thee.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote