Lyra Ecclesiastica/Second Series/Prose on the Conception of Our Ladye
PROSE ON THE CONCEPTION OF OUR LADYE,
PROBABLY BY ADAM DE S. VICTOR.
Festal honours crown the morning,
The Conception for adorning
Of the blesséd Queen of Heaven.
Virgin Mother she's created,
And conceived and generated,
Vein of grace to man forgiven.
Adam's exile long and dreary,
Joachim's reproach all weary,
Find the remedy desired.
This the prophets had detected,
This the patriarchs expected,
By cœlestial grace inspired.
Rod to holy budding fated,
Star the sun that generated,
She is on this day conceived;
But the bud the rod has rendered,
And the sun of star ingendered,
Are of Christ to be believed.
O! how glorious, how propitious,
Sweet to us, to God how pretious,
Is this bless'd conception held:—
Human misery is ended,
Mercy is to man extended,
Sorrow is by joy expelled.
Mother with new offspring teeming,
Star with nascent sun fresh beaming,
Bright she moves in grace's fire;
Child, her father's generator,—
Creature, mother of Creator,—
Daughter, parent of her sire.
Wonder new that thought confoundeth,
Honour new that all astoundeth
That her offspring's birth redoundeth
To the Mother's purity.
Virgin, be thy joys assuméd
Rod with holy buds that blooméd,
Mother by thy son illuméd,
Full of joy and verity.
That in antient types digested,
Which in cloudy darkness rested,
Marye's birth hath manifested
Who, all nature's laws arrested
Bare in pureness uncontested
(Act in awful wonder vested)
Through her God's bedewing grace.
Woe full sore in Eva caught us,
This of Eva Ave wrought us,
With a change all blameless sought us,
And to dwell amongst us brought us,
That sweet Word and good, that bought us,
Virgin Mother shed athwart us
Thy sweet grace's cheering rays.
Let each man, supineness chacing,
Lips and tongue with praises gracing,
Marye blessing, Marye praising,
As each day and hour is pacing,
Voice elating, mind abasing,
Prayer and supplication raising,
Seek her aid and ask her grace.
Thou, the hope of the distresséd,
Orphans' mother ever blesséd,
Comfort to the sore oppresséd,
Medicine for all sickness dresséd,
All in all to every sort;
We in unison adore thee,
Who hast every glory o'er thee,
Wandering o'er the waves before thee,
By thy mercy we implore thee
Guide us to salvation port.