THE GRANDEURS OF MARY
By Frederick William Faber, D.D.
What is this grandeur I see up in heaven,
A splendour that looks like a splendour divine?
What creature so near the Creator is throned?
O Mary, those marvellous glories are thine.
But who would have thought that a creature could live
With the fires of the Godhead so awfully nigh?
Oh, who could have dreamed, mighty Mother of God,
That ever God's power could have raised thee so high?
What name can we give to a queenship so grand?
What thought can we think of a glory like this?
Saints and angels lie far in the distance, remote
From the golden excess of thine unmated bliss.
Thy person, thy soul, thy most beautiful form,
Thine office, thy name, thy most singular grace—
God hath made for them, Mother, a world by itself,
A shrine all alone, a most worshipful place.
Mid the blaze of those fires, eternal, unmade,
Thy Maker unspeakably makes thee his own;
The arms of the Three Uncreated, outstretched,
Round the Word's mortal Mother in rapture are thrown.
