What mortal tongue can sing thy praise,
Dear Mother of the Lord?
To angels only it belongs,
Thy glory to record.
Say, Mary, what sweet force was that
Which from the Father’s breast
Drew forth his co-eternal Son,
To be thy bosom’s guest?
‘Twas not thy guileless faith alone
That lifted thee so high;
‘Twas not thy pure seraphic love,
Or peerless chastity.
But oh! it was thy lowliness,
Well pleasing to the Lord,
That made thee worthy to become
The mother of the Word.
O loftiest, whose humility
So sweet it was to see,
That God, forgetful of himself,
Abased himself to thee.
Henry Formby, ed., First Series of Hymns and Songs for the Use of Catholic Schools and Families (London: Burns and Lambert, 1853).