O Mother, Full of Grace and Sanctity;
How shall I dare that Grace to testify
With lips unclean? How may I speak of thee,
Nor derogate from thy great dignity
By words unsuited to thy majesty?
Mother of Jesus, ah, thou knowest why
I seek to gather from each Mystery
Some flower to form a chaplet that may be
An offering of pure love. I come to thee;
Nor do I fear that thou wilt turn from me.
For who might dare to raise his thoughts on high,
Or contemplate that Sovereign Charity
In whom thou art enclosed mysteriously;
Or muse on God's Eternal Entity
If we, O Mother, dare not dream of thee?
Yet, if I dream, the dream must certainly
Be less than thy deserving: for to be
Equal to that, the soul herself must be
Rapt in the light of holy ecstasy -
Such have thy children been who looked on thee.
Mother art thou of God's Humanity,
And as His Human Flesh assumed would be
Into the Substance of Divinity,
He in the Flesh is God, and thou wouldst be
Mother of God Incarnate, verily.
And God Himself no greater dignity
Upon a creature can confer: then see,
If in my musings I dishonour thee,
'Twill not by overstrained surmises be,
But want of power for comprehending thee.
Yea, Saints have said, who knowledge had of thee:
'United more to God thou couldst not be
Without thyself becoming God.' Oh, see,
Who may explain such sovereign Mystery?
Or give thee more than God hath given to thee?
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote