O Virgin-Mother of our gracious Lord,
Thou at whose shrine all kings, all nations bend;
Mother of Mercies, who thine aid dost lend
To lips who hail thee with the heart's accord;
Solace of sinners, Load-star ever nigh,
Whose saintly feet the serpent sin have crushed;
How much I love, when all rude winds are hushed
And silvery moonbeams light the motley sky,
Beneath high heaven's blue vaulted canopy,
In hallowed stillness to invoke thy aid,
And feel my cares released, my sorrows fly;
For, but to hail thee once, O spotless Maid,
Seems a bright ray of hope in realms on high,
Where pain dissolves in joys that never fade.