Classic Poem

Of all the queens in month of May
Proclaimed and crowned with flowers,
Oh, none could ever once compare
With her we name as ours:
‘Ave, Madonna,’ graced o'er all,
The first with us alway;
With pious minds and heedful hands
We crown thee Queen of the May.

O Star of Ocean, bend a ray
To orbs the light that crave;
Our bark is tossed; oh, intercede
With him who stilled the wave:
Ah, well-assured celestial aid
By lips like thine implored;
For how were lightly aught denied
The Mother of our Lord?

Sweet month of Mary, festal May,
What joy thy coming stirs;
Yet with our gladness blends a sigh,
For lives as pure as hers:
O Virgin-Patron of our land;
Oh, voice for aid to pray;
‘Ave, Madonna,’ 'tis thy month;
We crown thee Queen of the May.