Classic Poem

The Mother of God at Kevlaar
Is drest in her best array;
To-day she has much to be doing,
For the sick folk come to-day.

The sick folk all of them bring her,
As thanksgiving most meet,
Wax limbs cunningly moulded,
Waxen hands and feet.

And he who a wax hand offers,
His hand is healed of its pain;
And he who a wax foot offers
Can walk on his feet again.

To Kevlaar went many on crutches
Who now on the tight-rope bound;
And many now play the bass-viol
Who had not a finger sound.

The mother takes a waxlight
And fashions a heart thereof:
“Take that to God's dear Mother,
And she will heal thy love.”

The son took, sighing, the wax heart,
Went sighing to Our Lady so;
The tears from his eyes are flowing,
The words from his heart outflow:

“Thou blessèd among women,
Thou Maid of God most high
To thee, O Queen of Heaven,
To thee I make my cry.

“I lived alone with my mother
At Köln in the city afar,
The city where many hundreds
Of chapels and churches are.

“And near to us lived Gretchen,
But she, alas, is dead;
Mary, I bring thee a wax heart,
Heal thou my heart instead!

“Heal thou my heart of its sorrow,
And ever its song shall be,
Early and late unceasing;
‘Praise, Mary, be to thee!’”