To its primal Element, Life restoring from the Paradise of Pleasures, thou, Tomb! Thou who carest for our weal, Our Salvation framed to be; All our weakness deign to heal, Hope of our despondency! For thy coming they address'd, Glorious Mother, thron'd on high! Whom the Law's stern yoke oppress'd, Many a pray'r and many a sigh. For thee, in their torments, groan'd Countless captives in their bands: lamentation With deep moan'd, Lifted up their suppliant hands. All by hideous force of sin Hurl'd from primal dignity, Future, Present, Past, to bless; Raised all Ages to endow With thy dew of Holiness! Mothers all thy praise confess, Who hast giv'n our sinstain'd earth One should all its woe redress, Happy in Birth! His painless Howl and wail, Hell's dismal halls! Lo, the Pact of Death is void! From his empire Satan falls! His dread title is destroy'd! Still, for those who dare not, gain Strength to weep, and strength to pray! Us, by guilty weight opprest, By sin's conscious stain defiled, All whom thou hast freed Offer at thy Son's fond from pain Praise thee, their salvation's Stay; Breast, To His mercy reconciled! Amen. The Complaint of the Blessed Virgin Mary. At the Cross her station keeping, Bruised, derided, cursed, de filed, Stood the mournful Mother She beheld her tender Child All with bloody scourges [tion weeping, Close to Jesus to the last : Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, [ing, All His bitter anguish bearNow at length the sword had pass'd. Oh, how sad and sore distrest Was that Mother highly blest Of the sole-begotten One! Christ above in torment hangs; She beneath beholds the rent; For the sins of His own naSaw Him hang in desolation, Till His spirit forth He TO THE HONOUR OF MARY, THE VIRGIN MOTHER OF GOD, The original of which was composed by St. Casimir, son of Casimir Jagellonius, King of Poland, who used to recite it every day. It was found placed under the head of that Saint, at the time of the restoration of his tomb in the year 1604, and is much to be admired for its elegance and devotion. DECADE I. Each day, my soul, Us She endows With heav'nly gifts: Thy meed, my tongue, Earth's Queen is She,- With it resound Not one there is Her excellence! Praise, all, your Joy, Still, in Her praise, Hail Mary. DECADE II. Though none I know With things of Heav'n Hath put to nought. Her life the Church Bedecks, like flow'rs; Her words and deeds Are grace's dow'rs. Eve's sin to us Lost man, by Eve, By Mary he Is homeward bound. The praise of all Their love obtains. Her Son, obey'd Through Her, may I O'er women blest,- Hear graciously, And save from Hell, Hope of th' opprest! Fair Jesse's Rod! Light of the Deep! The Shrine of God! Hail Mary. DECADE III. Fulness of grace, Life's Standard true, God's Temple, and Truth's Pattern new! Thou to lorn souls The King's fair choice,- Chaste Lily flow'r! Pure budding Rose! Chaste choirs thou guid'st To Heaven's repose! Give me the pow'r With might to preach! But oh, to me First mem'ry grant, Oft, as is meet, Thy praise to chant! Through soil'd and dumb Virgin, rejoice, O Mother-Maid! By Thee, sweet Flow'r, We trust, whose Fruit Hail Mary. DECADE IV. All-beauteous One, By Thee, O Blest! The realms of Heav'n. Lo, the glad world Poor are the great, And rich the poor ;As thou foretold'st,They want no more! Through thee the bad Forsake their way; And doctrines strange Are driv'n away. Thou teachest us The world t' eschew, With holy zeal For Heav'nly prize. The Lord was borne Mother intact! He made all things, Who is thy Son,The King of kings! |