Hymn to the Virgin Mary

Conor O'Riordan, about 1750.

Queen of all Queens, oh! Wonder of the loveliness of women,
Heart which hath held in check for us the righteous wrath of God;
Strong Staff of Light, and Fosterer of the Bright Child of heaven,
Pray thou for us as we now pray that we may be forgiven.
She of the King of Stars beloved, stainless, undefiled,
Christ chose as His Mother-nurse, to Him, the stainless Child;
Within her breast, as in a nest, the Paraclete reposes,
Lily among fairest flowers, Rose amid red roses.
She, the bright unsheathèd sword to guard our souls in anguish,
She, the flawless limber-branch, to cover those that languish;
 Where her healing mantle flows, may I find my hiding,
'Neath the fringes of her robe constantly abiding.
Hostile camps upon the plain, sharp swords clashed together,
Stricken fleets across the main stressed by wintry weather;
Weary sickness on my heart, sinful thoughts alluring,
All the fever of my soul clings to her for curing.
She the Maid the careful king of the wide wet world chooses,
In her speech forgiveness lies, no suppliant she refuses;
White Star of our troubled sea, on thy name I'm crying,
That Christ may draw in His spread net the living and the dying.