William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

The Virgin (1822)

Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost

With the least shade of thought to sin allied;

Woman! above all women glorified,

Our tainted nature's solitary boast;

Purer than foam on central ocean tost;

Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn

With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon

Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast;

Thy Image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,

Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,

As to a visible Power, in which did blend

All that was mixed and reconciled in Thee

Of mother's love with maiden purity,

Of high with low, celestial with terrene!

The Child of Calvary

Of old, of old, on Calvary,

Stood Mary, full of grace,

Close to the cross where Jesus hung,

And looked up in His face.

Full tenderly Our Lord bent down

Toward her who gave Him birth,

Then placed her in the hands of him

He loved the best on earth;

So that disciple took her thence,

To dwell his home within,

And she became our mother dear,

Our Lady without sin.

– E.R.W.

Cyril Robert. Mary Immaculate: God's Mother and Mine. Poughkeepsie, New York: Marist Press, 1946.