Classic Poem

Tis the day the angel Gabriel to the Holy Maid came down,
Bearing her the palm of triumph, bringing her the victor's crown;
'Tis the day he came to call her to the Everlasting Lord—
Her, the Most High's chosen Dwelling, her, the Temple of the Word.
Gathered at the Spirit's summons, came the apostles one and all,
With the band of holy maidens, faithful to the Master's call.
Then the angel-hosts were humbled, in their glory bending down,
While the Word, the One-Begotten, called his Mother to her crown;
Till she heard and mounted upward, like the lightning in her flight,
Through the ranks of purest spirits passing to the heavenly height.
'Tis the day they took her body, pure and virginal and fair;
Gave it to the earth in keeping; laid their stainless treasure there.
See, the tomb wherein they laid her; round about it angels throng;
All around they sound the heavenly music of their choral song;
While the voices of the apostles mingle with the hymn they raise,
And the bands of holy maidens sing the Maiden-Mother's praise.
'Tis the day that saw her passing: from the land where senses reign
Passed that fair and stainless body to the spirits' high domain.
Now with overflowing gladness, sing the angel-ranks today
While the fair and glorious Virgin 'mid them wends her heavenward way.
Gifts of healing, gifts of mercy, this glad day are freely given;
Now the face of God's own Mother beams upon us from the heaven.
Thus we keep the Virgin's triumph; thus our thankful songs we raise—
To the Father, Son, and Spirit, sending up our prayer and praise.