Whereto shall we liken this Blessed Mary Virgin,
Fruitful shoot from Jesse’s root graciously emerging?
Lily we might call her, but Christ alone is white;
Rose delicious, but that Jesus is the one Delight;
Flower of women, but her Firstborn is mankind’s one flower:
He the Sun lights up all moons thro’ their radiant hour.
“Blessed among women, highly favoured,” thus
Glorious Gabriel hailed her, teaching words to us:
Whom devoutly copying we too cry “All hail!”
Echoing on the music of glorious Gabriel.
Herself a rose, who bore the Rose,
She bore the Rose and felt its thorn.
All Loveliness new-born
Took on her bosom its repose,
And slept and woke there night and morn.
Lily herself, she bore the one
Fair Lily; sweeter, whiter, far
Than she or others are:
The Sun of Righteousness her Son,
She was His morning star.
She gracious, He essential Grace,
He was the Fountain, she the rill:
Her goodness to fulfil
And gladness, with proportioned pace
He led her steps thro’ good and ill.
Christ’s mirror she of grace and love,
Of beauty and of life and death:
By hope and love and faith
Transfigured to His Likeness, “Dove,
Spouse, Sister, Mother,” Jesus saith.