Classic Poem

‘Pure as the snow,’ we say. Ah, never flake
Fell through the air
One-tenth as fair
As Mary's soul was made for Christ's dear sake.
Virgin Immaculate,
The whitest whiteness of the Alpine snows,
Beside thy stainless spirit, dusky grows.

‘Pure as the stars.’ Ah, never lovely night
Wore in its diadem
So pure a gem
As that which fills the ages with its light.
Virgin Immaculate,
The peerless splendours of thy soul by far
Outshine the glow of heaven's serenest star.

‘Pure as the lilies.’ Mother dear, forgive
The fond, but feeble trope.
Mother of Hope,
Fair Love and Holy Fear, there does not live,
Virgin Immaculate,
In all the grassy haunts where lilies blow,
As white, as rare, as sweet a flower as thou.

‘Pure as the breath of God.’ Oh, clean of heart,
These happy words can tell
The miracle
Of how divinely innocent thou art.
Virgin Immaculate,
Under thy shining cloak our vileness hide,
Lest her own kindred should disgrace the Bride.