Our Blessed Lady is meek,
but in a way that inherits the earth;
a humility that is exalted,
a simplicity that reigns,
like the gleam of star over sea
and the lullaby over a child.

Our Blessed Lady is mild,
but in a way that makes hearts bleed;
a gentleness that is strength,
a mercy that is mighty,
like the brilliance of the morning rising
and the greening of the spring.

Our Blessed Lady is pure,
but in a way that melts shackles off;
a flame that is white as the snows,
a soul like a smudgeless glass,
like the cry of a new baby born
and the streams that once were ice.

Our Blessed Lady is virgin,
but in a way beyond man’s touch;
a soul in single service,
a body that conforms in full,
like the purpose of a warrior’s sword
or the reed that plays its melodies.

Our Blessed Lady is a queen,
but in a way that empties out;
an empress with eyes cast down,
a peasant maid turned song of God,
like Gabriel’s words spark fire
and the moon sheds her grace.

Our Blessed Lady bears life’s seed,
but in a way that blossoms God;
a golden lamp that shields His flame,
an ivory vase that brims His wine,
like justice kissing mercy,
and heaven wedding earth.