Sing of Mary, pure and lowly,
Virgin Mother undefiled;
sing of God's own Son most holy,
who became her little child.
Fairest child of fairest Mother,
God the Lord who came to earth,
Word made flesh, our very brother,
shares our nature by his birth.
Sing of Jesus, son of Mary,
in the home at Nazareth,
toil and labor cannot weary
love enduring unto death.
Constant was the love he gave her,
though he went forth from her side,
forth to preach, and heal, and suffer
till on Calvary he died.
Sing of Mary, sing of Jesus,
holy Mother's holier Son.
From his throne in heaven he sees us,
thither calls us every one,
where he welcomes home his Mother
to a place at his right hand,
there his faithful servants gather,
there the crownèd victors stand.
Joyful Mother, full of gladness,
in thine arms thy Lord was borne.
Mournful Mother, full of sadness,
all thy heart with pain was torn.
Glorious Mother, now rewarded
with a crown at Jesus' hand,
age to age thy name recorded
shall be blessed in every land.
Glory be to God the Father;
glory be to God the Son;
glory be to God the Spirit;
glory to the Three in One.
From the heart of Blessèd Mary,
from all saints the song ascends,
and the Church the strain reechoes
unto earth's remotest ends.------------------------
Words: Roland Ford Palmer, 1914
| Mother of Christ, Mother of Christ What shall I ask of thee? I do not sigh for the wealth of the earth For the joys that fade and flee; But, Mother of Christ, Mother of Christ This do I long to see, The Bliss untold which thine arms enfold The treasure upon thy knee. Mother of Christ, Mother of Christ, Mother of Christ, Mother of Christ |