Assumption Poetry
Assumption Poetry
– Father Johann Roten, S.M.
The following poems celebrate the mystery of Our Lady's Assumption. The reader will also find here poetry which explores the relationship between the season of Summer and the Blessed Virgin's role in salvation history.
On the Glorious Assumption of Our Blessed Lady (Richard Crashaw)
Mary's Assumption (Alfred Barrett)
Our Lady, Help of Christians (Paul Claudel)
It Is Midday (Jean-Pierre Provost)
Assumption (Edward Seifert)
Mary's Assumption Into Heaven (Corrynn Thompson)
The Assumption - An Answer (Alfred Noyes)
Mary's Assumption (Dorothy Wayland)
Assumption (Timothy Chappell)
The Assumption (Irene Marinoff)
Our Lady's Assumption (Carolyn Doran)
The Assumption (Paul Stauder)
The Assumption (Rachael Attwater)
The Two Seamen (Violet Clifton)
The Assumption (A Missionary Nun)
The Assumption of Our Blessed Lady (Anonymous)
The Assumption of Mary (Alphonsus de Liguori)
The Angels Prepare the Assumption (Thomas Cosgrove)
The Assumption (Charles Quirk)
Memories of the Assumption (M. Angeline)
July (Lalia Thornton)
The Assumption (Blanche Mosler)
The Assumption (Thomas Burke)
Mary's Assumption (Frederick Lynk)
Song For Our Lady's Assumption (Mozarabic Liturgy)
The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Amadeus)
Song in Late Summer (Edith Stoney)
Feast of the Assumption B.V.M. - August 15 (Eleanor Donnelly)
Feast of the Assumption: "A Night Poem" (Abram Ryan)
The Assumption (Joachim Smet O. Charm)
Assumpta Est Maria en Coelum
Assumpta Est Maria
On the Glorious Assumption of Our Blessed Lady
Hark! She is call'd. The parting hour is come.
Take thy farewell, poor world! Heav'n must go home
A piece of heav'nly earth, purer and brighter
Than the chaste stars, whose choice lamps come to light her
While through the crystal orbs, clearer than they,
She climbs and makes a fair more milky way.
She's called. Hark how the dear immortal dove
Sighs to his silver mate, 'Rise up, my love!
'Rise up, my fair, my spotless one!
'The winter's past, the rain is gone.
'The spring is come, the flowers appear.
'No sweets but thou are wanting here.
'Come away, my love!
'Come away, my dove! Cast off delay.
'The court of Heav'n is come
'To wait upon thee home. Come, come away!
'The flowers appear,
'Our quickly would, wert thou once here.
'The spring is come, or, if it stay,
'Tis to keep time with thy delay.
'The rain is gone, except so much as we
'Detain in needful tears to weep the want of thee.
'The winter's past.
'Or, if he make less haste,
'His answer is, Why, she does so.
'If summer come not, how can winter go?
On the golden wings
Of the bright youth of Heav'n, that sings
Under so sweet a burthen. Go,
Since thy dread son will have it so.
And while thou goest our song and we
Will, as we may, reach after thee.
Hail, holy queen of humble hearts!
We in thy praise will have our parts.
Thy precious name shall be
Thy self to us, and we
With holy care will keep it by us.
We to the last
Will hold it fast
And no Assumption shall deny us.
All the sweetest showers
Of our fairest flowers
Will we strow upon it.
Though our sweets cannot make
It sweeter, they can take
Themselves new sweetness from it.
Maria, men and angels sing,
Maria, mother of our King.
Live, rosy princess, live. And may the bright
Crown of a most incomparable light
Embrace thy radiant brows. O may the best
Of everlasting joys bath thy white breast.
Live, our chaste love, the holy mirth
Of Heav'n, the humble pride of earth.
Live, crown of women, queen of men.
Live mistress of our song. And when
Our weak desires have done their best,
Sweet angels, come and sing the rest.
– Richard Crashaw (1613-1649)
Jennings, Elizabeth, editor. In Praise of Our Lady. Great Britain: Pitman Press, 1982.
There was silence in heaven, as if for half an hour-
Isaiah's coals of wonder sealed the lips
Of Seraph, Principality and Power,
Of all the nine angelic fellowships.
The archangels, those sheer intelligences,
Were silent, with their eyes on heaven's door.
So must our fancy dower them with senses,
Make them incarnate in a metaphor.
There was silence in heaven as Mary entered in,
For even Gabriel had not foreseen
The glory of a soul immune from sin
Throned in the body of the angels' Queen.
Blessed be God and Mary in whose womb
Was woven God's incredible disguise.
She gave Our Lord His Body. In the tomb
He gave her hers again and bade her rise.
Bright from death's slumber she arose, the flush
Of a chaste joy illumining her cheeks;
Among the motherless in heaven there was a hush
To hear the way a mother laughs and speaks.
Eye had not seen, nor ear of angel heard,
Nor heart conceived - until Our Lady's death -
What God for those that love Him had prepared
When heaven's synonym was Nazareth!
Her beauty opened slowly like a flower,
Beauty to them eternally bequeathed.
There was silence in heaven; as if for half an hour
No angel breathed.
– Alfred Barrett (1906-1985)
Lentfoehr, Therese, editor. I Sing of a Maiden. New York: Macmillan Company, 1947.
Our Lady, Help of Christians
The puny child who knows he can have but little love,
When by chance upon his face he feels a kind glance rove,
Reddens and bravely smiles, determined not to cry.
So in this wicked world the orphans and those passed by,
The penniless, those without joy that learning or humor lends,
As they do without everything, do equally without friends.
The poor are seldom confiding, yet a man can gain their heart.
He has only to treat them kindly, to honor them without art.
Take then this glance, this handclasp, O beggar, but trust me not!
Soon I shall be with my own sort and you will be forgot.
Only of friends more poor need a poor woman not be wary.
Wherefore, my burdened sister, draw near and look upon Mary!
Poor woman, whose husband drinks and whose children are far
from strong,
When you have no money for rent and death seems delayed too long,
Ah, when everything fails you and misery presses you ill,
Come to the church and look on the Mother of God, and be still!
Whatever injustice we bear, though our lot seem worse than all other,
Yet when the children are sick, it is harder to be their Mother!
So, uncomplaining and hopeless, look upon her who is there,
Like a poor man finding a poorer, and each at the other stare!
– Paul Claudel
Translated from the French by Sister Mary David, S.S.N.D.
Lentfoehr, Therese, editor. I Sing of a Maiden. New York: Macmillan Company, 1947.
It is midday. I see the church
open. I must enter.
Mother of Jesus Christ, I do
not come to pray.
I have nothing to ask
and nothing to offer.
I come only, Mother, to look at
you.
To look at you, to cry for joy,
to know that I am your son
and that you are there. Only
for a moment while everything
stops. Midday!
To be yours, Mary in this
place where you are.
Saying nothing, but looking at
you and letting my heart sing
in its own language.....
Because it is midday, because
we are here today, because
you are always there, simply
because you are Mary, simply
because you exist, Mother of
Jesus, be thanked.
– Prevost, Jean-Pierre. Mother of Jesus. Ottawa, Ontario: Novalis Press, 1988.
What does it mean, this assumption?
For her it was simply a matter of following
Her son to where his lights led her,
Follow before the worms got at her
Or that musty underground smell.
She followed him to a portico near the big stars
To look out over a night and a universe also.
They sat there in silence deep as a well
As they once sat in Nazareth counting the stars.
They watched and saw an old star sputtering
And a new star spinning out into the spaces
That lapped her like cool black waters.
Her son said, "This is for ever"
And she, with heart listening,
Sought to believe him.
– Edward Seifert. Emmanuel. July 1985, page 311.
Mary's Assumption Into Heaven
Dear Blessed Mary, ever Virgin,
The joy that filled your heart
Blended with the joyful heart of God
When He set that day apart
For your glorious Assumption!
Happy choirs of angels sang with
Loving veneration
As God proclaimed you Queen of Heaven
And all of His creation.
Nature's bright color and lilting song,
Beauty that we extol,
Could never attain the splendor
Of your immaculate soul!
As God's holy light surrounded you,
The portals opened wide.
You entered and received the homage.
Of all the sanctified.
Blessed Mother, our Lady of Hope,
Your holy queenship won,
You ascended your heavenly throne
To greet your loving Son!
– Corrynn Thompson. The Wanderer, page 9, date:8/17/89.
Before Earth saw Him, she had felt and known
The small soft feet that thrust like buds in Spring.
The body of Our Lord was all her own
Once. From the cross her arms received her King.
Think you that she, who bore Him on her breast,
Had not the Word still living in her heart?
Or that, because one voice had called her blest,
Her inmost soul had lost the better part?
Henceforth all generations......Ah, but that
You think was an ancient song she knew!
Millions this night will sing Magnificat,
And bring at least one strange prediction true.
Think you His heaven, that deep transcendent state,
Floats like Murillo's picture in the air?
Or that her life, so heavenly consecrate,
Had no essential habitation there?
Think you He looked upon her dying face,
And, throned above His burning seraphim,
Felt no especial tenderness or grace
For her whose life-blood once had throbbed in Him?
Proof of his filial love, His body on earth
Still lives and breathes, and tells us, night and day,
That earth and heaven were mingled in His birth,
Through her, who kneels beside us when we pray;
Kneels to the Word made flesh; Her living faith
Kneels to Incarnate Love, "not lent but given,"
Assumed to her on earth; and, after death,
Assuming her to His own heart in Heaven.
– Alfred Noyes. The Tablet 10/28/50, page 375.
Across the sky the first pale lights of dawn
Come forth, all softly stealing,
As Angels draw the night's grey curtain back,
The rising day revealing.
Above a tomb, a tomb in Palestine,
That stars that vigil kept,
Now one by one before the dawn retire,
For she must rise that slept!
Yea! Now the shining hosts of Angels wait
Thy coming, Mother-Maid,
And all the crowned ones of God with them,
In robes of white arrayed......
Now hath God caught thee up to His embrace-
And lilies show where was thy resting-place!
– Dorothy Wayland. Sutton File - Marian Library.
Assumption - Mother of All on High, Pray for Us Yet
Nothing is left me here. The world's a corridor,
vacant, echoing the great ones' passage through.
It is closed doors in rows: behind them, murmuring
of a second generation's other businesses.
Once I felt the kick of God within:
nothing else seemed great once that had been.
Your will is done,
and henceforth I will be
a silent smiling lady in a tapestry.
Your will is done,
and henceforth I am known
as a painted tiptoe figure in a pointed arch of stone.
Your will be done:
henceforth I watch with all
God's heroes in their sad unsleeping vigil
for earth's ball.
– Timothy Chappell. New Blackfriar, June 1996, page 287.
Thou of all creatures fairest, most beloved
Sweet Daystar, hymning the Eternal Sun,
Who, drawing manhood from thy spotless radiance
The course of man in breathless peace to run.
No foe to thwart Him and no sin to stay,
Lives our small life, sharing each anguished pang;
That nought out stepping where we blindly languish.
In Love relentless He pursues His way.
Now He ascends, victorious, and in thee.
Its purest flower, He crowns the human race,
Redeems, restores it to its former glory
To share with thee the vision of His face.
– Irene Marinoff. The Tablet, page 153, date: 8/45/53.
More beautiful than the harvest, swaying from sea to sea,
Yielding sweet abundance to starved humanity;
Glamorous ministration, Virtue's song of rest,
Healing ineffable to mankind's baffling quest:
Angels gather round thee, whom sin did ne'er befall,
Unseen their silent winging, unheard their heavenly call.
Lo, thou who once ascended Magnificats of prayer,
Art borne, a vista'd glory, refulgent otherwhere!
Lily of Predilection, Breath of true Womanhood,
Help us, through all sadness, to hold to what is good,-
Until, assumed into heaven, with thee and thy Son adored,
We, too may feel the rapture......that is Christ the Lord!
– Carolyn Ruth Doran. America, page 454, date: 8/16/1930.
Tears glistened in their shining eyes,
As on May fields the morning dew,-
The Seraphim attentive stood
Till silently "The Twelve" withdrew.
Enraptured choirs of angels sang,
Bearing their Queen through realms of space,
And lauded at the Starry Throne
The glorious gladness of God's face!
Father and Son and Spouse rejoiced
That Mary Queen of Heaven should reign!...
And Thomas saw white roses bloom
Within the tomb where She had lain.
– Reverend Paul A. Stauder, S.J. The Magnificat, August 1942.
She rises above starry skies,
And through unfathomable realms of light;
The heavens open!
A thousand angels stoop,
A thousand, thousand raise themselves aloft
And praise their God for her.
This is the day of holy triumph;
The radiant hosts receive our joy,
Our perfect flower.
And we look about
The doubtful ways of grubby lives, and mourn
Our forsaken earth.
But sweet, a murmurous echo,
A voice within the house of the soul,
Familiar, dear;
Open the door, and see
The mother with her Child upon her lap
In the next room.
– Rachael Attwater. The Tablet, page 136, date: 8/16/98.
Two seamen that had some part in the mystery of Our Lady's Assumption.
First seamen:
"I did not see her go
Like as I see things with my night-watch eye
But this I flatly know-
I did behold her, and her company.
Then was I put in mind
Of some great ship, her heavy anchor weighed,
And luffed to spill the wind,
The harbor aft and ev'ry farewell said.
"I felt the spirit blow
As blows the wind on mainsail and on mizzen
Strange birds flew to and fro
Creatures the like of which belong to heaven.
This ship not manned by slaves
Nor battle-bound but as the Argo, free
Seeking across the waves
The Happy Isles: the rest bedazzled me."
So spoke the seamen, his blue eyes intent
To conjure up again their lost content.
Second seamen:
"All otherwise I saw,
Star-drunk with joy, that giddying event;
A Power stooped to draw
The very sea above the firmament,
Beyond the utmost bar
Raised her whom slip of clerk's pen did mis-frame
Stella-Maris, sea-star,
Though Stilla Maris - sea spray was her name.
"I knew, by heart or sight
The ocean raised and plunged into the sun
The waters crowned with light
The music of the planets and the moon.
The Holy Ghost had moved upon that flood,
Thence had the Fish emerged,
The Fish of healing gall -
That Fish that feeds the multitudes and purged
The earthy sins of all."
The second sailor spoke as speak the mad
Man's reason cannot bear to be so glad.
– Violet Clifton. The Tablet, pages 136, date: 8/16/98.
Lo, amidst the sunrise's aurora gold
what do Heaven's inhabitants behold?
Upon a white cloud a beautiful Virgin stands
reverently borne aloft by angels' hands.
As to heaven's portals she draws ever more nigh
heavenly choirs sing out through the sky:
"Blessed is she who comes to us like a queen.
In mere human being such fullness of grace has never been seen!"
The gates of heaven swing open wide
while the saints line up, side by side.
The angels dance and sing with glee
rejoicing that heaven's Queen they are bout to see.
Adam and Eve, S.S. Joachim and Anne to the gates are near
to welcome, on her arrival, their daughter dear:
with them are S.S. Zachary and Elizabeth, good St. Joseph and the prophets too.
To pay their Queen their homage true.
As the Virgin Mary sets foot on heaven's land
Her Divine Son takes hold of her hand
then presses her to His Heart in a loving embrace
while her soul overflows with joy and grace.
St. Elizabeth sets the saints' chanting key
singing: "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee."
Then Mother and Son join the processional train
and Mary answers, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord
My spirit rejoices in God, my Savior." this is her sweet refrain.
– A Missionary Sister of St. Peter Claver. Echo From Africa, page 117, date: August 1975.
The Assumption of Our Blessed Lady
Sweet summer passes, melting day by day
Into the smiling mellow autumn-tide;
The flowers are blooming still, the birds are gay,
And the fields wave in all their golden pride;
Fair Nature pours her treasures far and wide
In joyful homage to our Lady dear,
For that her festival of highest tide,
The crowning gem of Mary's circling year,
The bright triumphant day of heaven and earth, is here;-
The day when heaven did receive from earth
The fairest gift that earth had to bestow;
The Virgin sweet that to her God gave birth,
The humble maiden-mother meek and low;
When the rejoicing angels forth did go
To welcome her; and her Almighty Son
To the admiring heaven its Queen did show,
Crowned with eternal glory, on a throne
Placed high above the high, lower than God's alone.
Oh Mary, God Himself did honor thee;
What homages then should we, His creatures, bring!
Before thy shrine we sink on bended knee,
And come with humble hearts thy praises to sing.
It was to thee that heaven's eternal King
Once looked for help and sweet protecting care,
Oh! Mother blest beyond imagining!
And the Most High has deigned with us to share
His Mother's love, and us thy children to declare.
Oh dost thou smile to see us bring these flowers,
These glittering lights? To hear our songs of praise?
Thou hast immortal wreaths from fadeless bowers;
Thy crown illumines heaven with its rays;
Before thy throne angelic spirits raise
Celestial hymns of ravishing delight;
Yet thou wilt not disdain our humble lays,
Our flow'rets pale, our tapers' trembling light;
Too meek thou art and kind our humblest gifts to slight.
Oh! Could we praise thee as the angels do -
Oh! Could we serve and honor thee as they -
How gladly would we pay thee homage due!
What tribute should our love and faith display!
But we can scarce do more than kneel and pray
Like helpless children at a mother's knee:
Yet thus more happy than the angels; they
But claim thee for their glorious Queen, while we
Do call thee Mother dear, and such thou deign'st to be.
Honor and reverence then, and duteous love,
We offer thee with filial hearts and true;
Look from thy star-encircled throne above,
And all our wants and all our sorrows view.
Oh, Mother, spread thy heavenly mantle blue
O'er our unsheltered heads, and keep us near
Thy blessed feet, that with affection due
And loyalty, we kiss and we revere,
Oh, Queen of Heaven and Earth, Mother and Mistress dear!
The Catholic Review. August 1872.
The Assumption of Mary
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly,
Soar beyond the golden sky,
Mount to Mary's throne on high.
Bright the queenly crown she won,
Sweet the reign she has begun,
As she stands beside her Son.
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
How endure this long delay?
Living here how can I stay
From such beauty far away?
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
Sad my lot is here below;
Who can hope or life bestow?
Who will help or pity show?
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
But though far away from me,
Still our sovereign Queen will be
Full of love and clemency.
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
With a mother's loving care
She will lift those hands so fair,
And will save us by her prayer.
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
Mother's heart can ne'er forget
That we are her children yet,
By such dangers fierce beset.
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
Gently, still, she bends her eyes
On the soul that longs and sighs
For her love, the heavenly prize.
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
Blest the soul who, like the dove
Borne upon the wings of love,
Follows her to heaven above.
Fly, my soul, with Mary fly.
Saint Alphonsus de Liguori
– Grimm, Eugene, editor. The Glories of Mary. New York: Redemptoris Fathers, 1931.
The Angels Prepare the Assumption
We'll hew a highway through the skies
And pave it white with sheen
For pure must be the pathway
Where walks a stainless Queen.
We'll fuse the fairest rainbows
In one symphonic hue
And gaily tint the fabric
Of our Lady's avenue.
If heaven's brightest beauties
Should dare her pathway bar
We'll cleave the sun in splinters
And shatter every star.
We'll drain the fresh new dawning
Of all its dew drop spray
And with it soothe the roughness
That mars the maiden's way.
Then all the angel choirs
With anthems swelling sweet
Shall lead the lovely Lady
Along her spangled street.
A destiny of glory
This roadway shall complete
When at its end the Mother
And the Son of God shall meet.
– Thomas H. Cosgrove
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1944.
Surely corruption could not enter here
To mar the stainless beauty of this Shrine
Which once had housed and nourished the Divine,
You, Lady, God created without peer.
God's Masterpiece we call you which He made
To be Salvation's fiat, to enthrall,
To lure to birth the Christmas Miracle,
Blood of your blood, in your fair flesh arrayed.
What wonderment in heaven when you came
To crown the Redemption's business with your joy,
When face to face you stood before your Boy,
Whom Heaven and earth Almighty God acclaim.
– Charles J. Quirk
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1944.
They bore her in a reverent group
To a holy place,
Left her body in the earth -
Her body, "full of grace".
But Thomas, tardy, slow of foot,
Absent when she died,
Spent with sorrow, craved to see
Her of the Crucified.
There was a swift intake of breath,
A hurried silent prayer:
Startled they opened the new-made tomb
To find but lilies there.
– Sister M. Angeline
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1944.
Sleepy days, lazy days,
Leafy woods and grassy ways,
Fruit in orchard, grain in field.
Firstlings of the garden yield.
Copper sun in azure sky,
Earth a welcome gives July.
Sunny days, golden days,
Evening dew and morning haze;
Freedom - all our fears beguile.
Lady of Mount Carmel....smile.
Even war cannot deny
Benison of kink July.
Blessed days, gentle days,
Now we offer loyal praise;
Now we put our faith and trust
In the One, supreme and just,
Now we all our fathers deny,
Blessings crown us in July.
– Lalia Mitchell Thornton
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1944.
He knew that through the long and bitter years
One heart was there beside Him to the end;
No matter what, her arms were there to lend
Surcease from all the sadness.....all the tears.
Even to the Cross and Calvary, He, the Son,
Had found her even near Him. It was she
Who held His broken body tenderly -
Holding Him close....even after life was done.
Never, did He forget. One glorious hour
The Virgin Mother went to Him again;
Lifted from all the sorrow and the pain
To be the Queen of Heaven! Heaven's flower!
Exalted above the angels! Nothing shall sever
The Two Who shared life's bitterness awhile;
She shines with eternal beauty, and her smile
Wraps Him in wondrous tenderness........forever!
– Blanche Yvonne Mosler
Roberet, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1944.
Its flowers are too stainless to remain
Concealed in the dark caverns of the earth,
But must be lifted up by God again
To know a second spring - a glad rebirth!
How could Christ leave her body in the tomb
Who was above all other women blest,
Who gave Him refuge in her virgin womb,
And fed Him on the lilies of her breast?
Is she not fairer far than any flower?
What bloom could ever boast her loveliness?
What fragrance rose in its sequestered bower
Has ever vied with her in spotlessness?
Truly the Lord, her God, the Holy One,
Has placed His tabernacle in the sun.
– Thomas E. Burke
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1944.
Gleaming bright lies the City of God
Up in the mystic hold of the skies;
Out of its open pearly gate
Baby angels with shining eyes
Like a whirling white rosary band,
Tumble merrily into the street,
Strewing flowers with busy hand
All along the bright milky way,
Looking earthward with longing gaze,
Smiling and humming a little lay.
Lily-slender big angels stand
On the City's high pinnacle,
Whispering softly: "Brothers, today
Heaven will see a new spectacle."
Thrusting their trumpets into the sky
Gently they breathe, the tone to try.
Out of the gate steps Michael, the blessed,
Now in glittering armor dressed
Swings his sword of the flaming sheen,
Calls aloud: "Stand ready, ye all,
For her majesty, our Queen!"
And the shining trumpets flash up,
Solid like frozen lightening beams,
Pouring their thundering joy fanfares
Into the depths where the echo dreams.
Loud, yet sweet, the deep rolling sound
Onto the harkening stillness breaks
Till the heavens' wide azure vault
Under the volume of music quakes.
Suddenly like a rushing sea
Bursts the angels' jubilant song
In a never-heard melody
Ringing the mighty sky ways along:
"Who is she who ascends from the desert
Like a cloud of sweetest incense?
Who is she who walketh a queen
Into her kingdom bright and immense?
Oh, did angel's or man's eye ever
See such beauty unearthly rare?
Sweet like a rose without a thorn
And a lily wreath in her hair?
Fresh and clear like the morning dew,
Clothed in garments snow-white and blue?
Ave, Ave, God's holy spouse,
Welcome in thy eternal house!"
Now the blessed queen nears the gate
Gabriel had walked by her side;
Michael, the warrior, takes his place,
Her last steps to the throne to guide.
But she trembles in sweet confusion....
Has the diamond threshold's shine
Blinded her modest virgin's eyes,
Or what causes her head to incline?
Loud the angels sing: "Queen, proceed
Up to the throne for thee decreed."
Patriarchs bow their snowy heads,
prophets kiss her white garment's hem,
Holy boy martyrs from Bethlehem
Crowd about like a wreath of lilies,
Holy women tender and sweet
All, all bow and forever repeat:
"Thou who God's true mother art,
Thou who art dearest to His heart,
Up near the throne of the Trinity
Thine own throne is awaiting thee."
Now all dwellers of heaven are still
And a rainbow's bright colored arch
Over the Holy of Holies' shrine
Halts the triumphal bridal march.
Delegates of the spirit world
Hold their mysterious banners unfurled.
Humbly she stops and dares not to go
Over the threshold's glitter and glow
Till a renewed cry rends the air:
"Onward, beloved queen, most fair;
See thy throne, bejeweled and bright,
Beaming in God's eternal light."
Now, O wondrous and moving scene -
Even Prince Michael steps aside,
Solitary stands heaven's queen,
God's own daughter and mother and bride,
At the foot of her golden throne,
Till her divine and only Son
Bends down to the beloved one
And in loving filial grace
Kisses her virgin mother face.
Kneeling, her queenly head bowed down,
Weeping she feels the royal crown
placed upon her white virgin brow,
That in the Father's unending love,
Hovering o'er her the Spirit dove,
She shall wear through eternity now.
– Frederick M. Lynk
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1944.
Song For Our Lady's Assumption
As the tower of David art thou, O Mary,
And in thee there is no flaw,
How beautiful and lovely art thou in the adorning,
And the odor of thy ointments
Is like the fragarance of Libanus,
Above all perfume.....
Like a dove brooding over swelling waters,
Like vials that pour out perfumed oil,
Like lilies distilling their fragarance,
Like the golden vessels of Tharsis,
Like the choice Libanus and the cedar tree,
Like fair tall columns of marble
Set upon bases of gold, art thou, O Mary!
How beautiful and how lovely!
– The Mozarabic Liturgy
Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1946.
The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary
The beautiful Mother, the peerless, the bright,
The purest of gems that the world has e'er seen.
Is wafted in glory to infinite height,
Where angels, unnumbered, proclaimed her their Queen.
She soars to the Father, who welcomes above
The coming of her whom the nations call "blest";
She goes to the Son of her heart and her love,
To reign evermore in His kingdom of rest;
She answers the call of the Spirit, her Spouse,
Whose Bride she became in her innocent youth;
She reaps there the fruit of her virginal vows -
Sweet Lady, the Source of the Way, Life and Truth.
– Amadeus
Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1946.
Soft and blue are thy robes, my Mother,
Azure and clear as an angel's eyes -
Let me hide in them, oh, my Mother -
Radiant Queen of the summer skies!
Softly piled on the far horizon
Smoky white clouds drifting here and there;
These the border on your blue mantle -
Mother most holy......Virgin most fair!
Deep and blue and wide is the ocean -
Deep as the call of its peace to me;
Jeweled and shining.....Thy veil, my Mother?
Thy silvered veil, oh Star of the sea?
– Edith M. Stoney
Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1946.
Feast of the Assumption B.V.M. - August 15
I.
And now drew on the end. The faithful knelt,
Feasting their eyes upon that form and face -
That perfect Flower of God's purest grace.
Wherein the fullness of His glory dwelt.
Untouch'd by age, untarnish'd by decay,
Her bonds were breaking in the summer night;
Love's fire waxing fiercer in its might,
The ties of flesh, dissolving, burned away;
And all was silence till the appointed hour -
A vast, mysterious Sound the house place thrill'd!
Delicious odors the dim chamber filled,
Where angels chanted with exultant pow'r.
II.
He comes - He comes - the Lord of Life and Death,
Amid a glorious throng of spirits white!
His splendor, turns to noon the shad'wy night,
And wakes to rapture Mary's failing breath.
Above the humble couch He gently stoops,
And lays His hand upon her shining brow.
"Arise, O love!" He cries. "The end is now.
Sweet Mother, come!" - The fair head meekly droops;
And, forth her virgin essence, joyous, fares -
A white Dove springing to its nest Divine!
The watchers hide their faces. "Mother mine,
Farewell!" each murmurs thro' his sighs and prayers.
III.
Farewell! We echo. Rest thee, spotless one!
Death is not here, but everlasting life.
Released from exile, sorrow, suff'ring, strife,
Thou sleepest in the bosom of thy Son.
Mother of God! By this, thy blest repose,
Help us to keep our souls so clean and bright,
That, without stain upon thy sandals white,
Daily, thou mayest walk across their snows.
Then shall our passing from this world of care
Take on some feeble likeness to thine own;
Then shall we rise to rest beside thy throne,
And thine eternal bliss and glory share!
– Eleanor C. Donnelly
Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1946.
Feast of the Assumption: "A Night Prayer"
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead,
Thy feast has fled;
My eyes are wet with tears unshed;
I bow my head;
Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway
I bend my knee,
And, like a homesick child, I pray,
Mary, to thee.
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all the day - since white-robed priest
In farthest East,
In dawn's first ray - began the Feast,
I- I the least -
Thy least, and last, and lowest child,
I called on thee!
Virgin! Didst hear? My words were wild;
Didst think of me?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! And no! The angels bright,
With wings as white
As a dream of snow in love and light,
Flashed on thy sight;
They shone like stars around thee! Queen.
I knelt afar -
A shadow only dims the scene
Where shines a star!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, where altars stand,
Or poor or grand,
A countless throng from every land,
With lifted hand,
Winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale
In glad acclaim,
How couldst thou hear my lone lips wail
Thy sweet, pure name?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! And no! Thou didst not hear
Nor bend thy ear,
To prayer of woe as mine so drear;
For hearts more dear
Hid me from hearing and from sight
This bright Feast-day;
Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its night
I kneel and pray?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set, the day is dead;
Thy Feast hath fled;
My eyes are wet with the tears I shed;
I bow my head;
Angels and altars hailed thee Queen
All day; ah! Be
To-night what thou hast ever been -
A mother to me!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Thy queenly crown in angels' sight
Is fair and bright;
Ah! Lay it down; for, oh! To-night
Its jeweled light
Shines not as the tender love-light shines,
O Mary mild,
In the mother's eyes, whose pure heart pines
For poor, lost child!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Sceptre in hand, thou dost hold sway
Fore'er and aye
In angel-land; but, fair Queen, pray
Lay it away.
Let thy sceptre wave in the realms above
Where angels are;
But, Mother, fold in thine arms of love
Thy child afar!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayer
My poor lips dare?
Yea! Be to all a Queen most fair,
Crown, sceptre, bear!
But look on me with a mother's eyes
From heaven's bliss;
And waft to me from the starry skies
A mother's kiss.
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set, the day is dead;
Her Feast has fled!
Can she forget the sweet blood shed,
The last words said
That evening - "Woman, behold thy Son!"
Oh! Priceless right,
Of all His children! The last, the least one,
Is heard to-night.
– Father Abram Ryan
Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine. Poughkeepsie, NY: Marist Press, 1946.
No painter ever caught the magic other going--
This was a matter of an inward growing,
Simple and imperceptible as thought.
It was no pageant wrought
Of sounding splendor, welter of gold bars
Of molten day, mad stars,
Flurry of quick angels' winging,
Bursts of their laughter ringing
In wild bliss.
The simple fact is this:
Love conquered at long last.
Her eager soul fled fast
With a great gladness like a song
Unto to her Spouse above,
And her pure flesh would not be parted long
For sheer love.
– Joachim Smet O.Carm
Assumpta Est Maria en Coelum
"Clothed with the Sun," with crescent 'neath thy feet
And the fair star-gems glistening in thy crown,
"Salve Regina!" clement, loving, sweet!
"Salve!" on "exiled children" now look down.
Harkl! "Quae est ista?" chant the angel-bands.
"Who is this flow'ret from the desert-place?
Glad the responses to their blest demands:
This is God's "handmaid," full of every grace.
White as untrodden drifts of Alpine snow;
Lovely as lilies in the wooded vale;
Purer than crystal streamlets as they flow;
Softer than star-light or the moonbeams pale.
Nature is robed in festal garbs today;
Tinged is her beauty, as with golden hue;
And the unfolding buds--(like hearts that pray)
Gleam with the "chaliced sweetness" of bright dew.
Glorious indeed, this harvest "Lady Day!"
Gladly we greet thee, Daughter, Mother, Bride!
Plead for us now like Esther!--Far away
Still
in this "vale of tears" we must abide.
Shine, o thou Star of guidance, o'er life's sea!
Meet us with welcome on the silvery shore.
Show us our Saviour's Face externally,
Then we shall praise His love for ever more.
In bliss I shall be singing,
Before my Queen so mild:
I'm Mary's child forever,
Forever Mary's child.
– Unknown
What shall we offer her whose candid eyes
Are filled with heaven? Those who man call wise
Have still no gift, but only kneel to her
Who bears God's message, and His messenger.
Not hers the argent beauty that upon
A night fired Ilium, nor this the grace
Theocritus once sang, in that far dawn
Before God's mercy had unveiled her face.
Yet we are blind with beauty--here is one
who is a light between us and the sun.
– Anne Cabell
All About Mary includes a variety of content, much of which reflects the expertise, interpretations and opinions of the individual authors and not necessarily of the Marian Library or the University of Dayton. Please share feedback or suggestions with marianlibrary@udayton.edu.