Classic Poem

We pray to life's source, Mary,
Lady goldsmith of true health.
She is rightly named the queen,
Through her grace, heaven listens.
To hell her power reaches,
Above and across the world.
Right, fearing pain, fearing wreck
In the Channel, to name her.
Right for Mary, whom I name,
To be named a light-bearer.

Gabriel, through bright heavens,
Addressed to this holy saint
Ave, for sinful Eva;
Mary bore that, great her grace.
Blessed was the conception,
Her Father's word, of her womb.
Good was the maid, hope's dwelling,
Her flesh bore heaven for you,
In goodness bearing her Son,
And the Father who made her.
The Three, below the sun's round,
In the bright sun were dwelling.
Humbly we'll go in prayer,
As God He was born, as man.
Mary sang God lullabies
And bore Him, a pure virgin.

As the prophecy foretold
To Egypt she brought Jesus;
The lions were light-hearted,
And the snakes, with the pure saint.
Great blessings, Mary noticed
One day when the sun was strong
A tall tree with luscious fruit
On its crest, which she craved for.

His gold love asked of Joseph
Some from the top, a bright gift.
Then angrily, in few words,
Joseph replied to Mary:
‘Ask the one, fair slim maiden,
Who made you pregnant, pure saint.’
It bowed to the level earth,
That tree, by the Son's wonders;
She had from the top her fill
Of fruit, she and her household.

None could briefly tell her Son's
Wonders worked to help Mary.
O that I, as is fitting,
Knew a hundred works to sing,
And could sing them with fine art,
And each word praising Mary.
Let us seek our lands, praying,
And ‘Mary’ our only word.
The Virgin does much pleading,
She will not leave men behind.
She plucks us from the briers,
And after this life, with her
Bliss for us, singing to her,
Heaven, we'll sing to Mary.