The Annunciation

How pure, and frail, and white, The snowdrops shine! Gather a garland bright For Mary’s shrine.

For, born of winter snows, These fragile flowers Are gifts to our fair Queen From Spring’s first hours.

For on this blessèd day She knelt at prayer; When, lo! before her shone An Angel fair.

“Hail, Mary!” thus he cried, With reverent fear: She, with sweet wondering eyes, Marvelled to hear.

Be still, ye clouds of Heaven! Be silent, Earth! And hear an Angel tell Of Jesus’ birth,

While she, whom Gabriel hails As full of grace, Listens with humble faith In her sweet face.

Be still,—Pride, War, and Pomp, Vain Hopes, vain Fears, For now an Angel speaks, And Mary hears.

“Hail, Mary!” lo, it rings Through ages on; “Hail Mary!” it shall sound, Till Time is done

“Hail, Mary!” infant lips Lisp it to-day; “Hail, Mary!” with faint smile The dying say.

“Hail, Mary!” many a heart Broken with grief, In that angelic prayer Has found relief.

And many a half-lost soul, When turned at bay, With those triumphant words Has won the day.

“Hail, Mary, Queen of Heaven!” Let us repeat, And place our snowdrop wreath Here at her feet.