References to

Our Lady
The Blessed Virgin has inspired prophecies, prayers, love poems and other writings by
sacred and profane authors throughout the centuries, in every generation and clime. These
texts make up the treasury of sacred literature of all mankind.
Pope Benedict, at a great gathering in an Italian city, addressed a beautiful prayer
to Our Lady which said, in part:

Clement Virgin, Mother of Humanity,

Turn your gaze upon the men and women of our time,
upon peoples and those who govern them, upon nations and continents;
console those who weep, who suffer, who struggle because of human injustice,
sustain those who waver under the weight of toil
and look to the future without hope;
encourage those who labor to build a better world
where justice triumphs and brotherhood reigns,
where egoism, hatred and violence cease.
May every form and manifestation of violence
Be defeated by the peaceful power of Christ!

Virgin of Listening, Star of Hope,

Mother of Mercy,
source through whom Jesus came into the world,
our life and our joy,
we thank you and we renew to you the offer of our life,
certain that you will never abandon us,
especially in the dark and difficult moments of existence.
Be with us always: now and at the hour of our death.

The Virgin by William Wordsworth

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!
From the Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer (c.1340-1400).
(The Prioress’ Tale, Prologue- The Merry Words of the Host to the Sailor and to My
Lady Prioress).

In Asia, in a city rich and great

There was a Jewry set amidst the town,
Established by a rich lord of the state
For usury and gain of ill renown,
Hateful to Christ and those who are His own;
And through that street a man might ride or wend,
For it was free and open at each end.
A little school for Christian folk there stood,
Down at the farther end, in which there were
A many children born of Christian blood,
Who learned in that same school, year after year,
Such teachings as with men were current there,
Which is to say, to sing well and to read,
As children do of whatsoever creed.
Among these children was a widow's son,
A little choir boy, seven years of age,
Who went to school as days passed one by one,
And who, whenever saw he the image
Of Jesus' Mother, it was his usage,
As he'd been taught, to kneel down there and say
Ave Maria, ere he went his way.
Thus had this widow her small son well taught
Our Blessed Lady, Jesus' Mother dear,
To worship always, and he ne'er forgot,
For simple child learns easily and clear;
But ever, when I muse on matters here,
Saint Nicholas stands aye in my presence,
For he, when young, did do Christ reverence.
This little child, his little lesson learning,
Sat at his primer in the school, and there,
While boys were taught the antiphons, kept turning,
And heard the Alma redemptoris fair,
And drew as near as ever he did dare,
Marking the words, remembering every note,
Until the first verse he could sing by rote.
He knew not what this Latin meant to say,
Being so young and of such tender age,
But once a young school-comrade did he pray
To expound to him the song in his language,
Or tell him why the song was in usage;
Asking the boy the meaning of the song,
On his bare knees he begged him well and long.
His fellow was an older lad than he,
And answered thus: "This song, as I've heard say,
Was made to praise Our Blessed Lady free,
Her to salute and ever Her to pray
To be our help when comes our dying day.
I can expound to you only so far;
I've learned the song; I know but small grammar."
"And is this song made in all reverence
Of Jesus' Mother?" asked this innocent;
"Now truly I will work with diligence
To learn it all ere Christmas sacrament,
Though for my primer I take punishment
And though I'm beaten thrice within the hour,
Yet will I learn it by Our Lady's power!"
His fellow taught him on their homeward way
Until he learned the antiphon by rote.
Then clear and bold he sang it day by day,
Each word according with its proper note;
And twice each day it welled from out his throat,
As schoolward went he and as homeward went;
On Jesus' Mother was his fixed intent.
As I have said, as through the Jewry went
This little school-boy, out the song would ring,
And joyously the notes he upward sent;
O Alma redemptoris would he sing;
To his heart's core it did the sweetness bring
Of Christ's dear Mother, and, to Her to pray,
He could not keep from singing on his way.
Our primal foe, the serpent Sathanas,
Who has in Jewish heart his hornets' nest,
Swelled arrogantly: "O Jewish folk, alas!
Is it to you a good thing, and the best,
That such a boy walks here, without protest,
In your despite and doing such offense
Against the teachings that you reverence?"
From that time forth the Jewish folk conspired
Out of the world this innocent to chase;
A murderer they found, and thereto hired,
Who in an alley had a hiding-place;
And as the child went by at sober pace,
This cursed Jew did seize and hold him fast,
And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.
I say, that in a cesspool him they threw,
Wherein these Jews did empty their entrails.
O cursed folk of Herod, born anew,
How can you think your ill intent avails?
Murder will out, 'tis sure, nor ever fails,
And chiefly when God's honour vengeance needs.
The blood cries out upon your cursed deeds.
"O martyr firm in thy virginity,
Now mayest thou sing, and ever follow on
The pure white Lamb Celestial"- quoth she-
"Whereof the great evangelist, Saint John,
In Patmos wrote, saying that they are gone
Before the Lamb, singing a song that's new,
And virgins all, who never woman knew."
This widow poor awaited all that night
Her child's return to her, but be came not;
For which, so soon as it was full daylight,
With pale face full of dread, and busy thought,
At school she sought and everywhere she sought,
Until, at last, from all her questioning she
Learned that he last was seen in the Jewry.
With mother's pity in her breast enclosed
She ran, as she were half out of her mind,
To every place where it might be supposed,
In likelihood, that she her son should find;
And ever on Christ's Mother meek and kind
She called until, at last, Our Lady wrought
That amongst the cursed Jews the widow sought.
She asked and she implored, all piteously,
Of every Jew who dwelt in that foul place,
To tell her where her little child could be.
They answered "Nay." But Jesus, of His grace,
Put in her mind, within a little space,
That after him in that same spot she cried
Where he'd been cast in it, or near beside.
O Thou great God, Who innocents hast called
To give Thee praise, now shown is Thy great might!
This gem of chastity, this emerald,
Of martyrdom the ruby clear and bright,
Began, though slain and hidden there from sight,
The Alma redemptoris loud to sing,
So clear that all the neighbourhood did ring.
The Christian folk that through the ghetto went
Came running for the wonder of this thing,
And hastily they for the provost sent;
He also came without long tarrying,
And gave Christ thanks, Who is of Heaven King,
And, too, His Mother, honour of mankind;
And after that the Jews there did he bind.
This child, with piteous lamentation, then
Was taken up, singing his song alway;
And, honoured by a great concourse of men,
Carried within an abbey near, that day.
Swooning, his mother by the black bier lay,
Nor easily could people who were there
This second Rachel carry from the bier.
With torture and with shameful death, each one,
The provost did these cursed Hebrews serve
Who of the murder knew, and that anon;
From justice to the villains he'd not swerve.
Evil shall have what evil does deserve.
And therefore, with wild horses, did he draw,
And after hang, their bodies, all by law.
Upon the bier lay this poor innocent
Before the altar, while the mass did last,
And after that the abbot and monks went
About the coffin for to close it fast;
But when the holy water they did cast,
Then spoke the child, at touch of holy water,
And sang, "O Alma redemptoris mater!"
This abbot, who was a right holy man,
As all monks are, or as they ought to be,
The dead young boy to conjure then began,
Saying: "O dear child, I do beg of thee,
By virtue of the Holy Trinity,
Tell me how it can be that thou dost sing
After thy throat is cut, to all seeming?"
"My throat is cut unto the spinal bone,"
Replied the child. "By nature of my kind
I should have died, aye, many hours agone,
But Jesus Christ, as you in books shall find,
Wills that His glory last in human mind;
Thus for the honour of His Mother dear,
Still may I sing 'O Alma' loud and clear.
"This well of mercy, Jesus' Mother sweet,
I always loved, after poor knowing;
And when came time that I my death must meet,
She came to me and bade me only sing
This anthem in the pain of my dying,
As you have heard, and after I had sung,
She laid a precious pearl upon my tongue.
"Wherefore I sing, and sing I must, 'tis plain,
In honour of that blessed Maiden free,
Till from my tongue is taken away the grain;
And afterward she said thus unto me:
'My little child, soon will I come for thee,
When from thy tongue the little bead they take;
Be not afraid, thee I will not forsake.'"
The holy monk, this abbot, so say I,
The tongue caught out and took away the grain,
And he gave up the ghost, then, easily,
And when the abbot saw this wonder plain,
The salt tears trickled down his cheeks like rain,
And humbly be fell prone upon the ground,
Lying there still as if he had been bound.
And all the monks lay there on the pavement,
Weeping and praising Jesus' Mother dear,
And after that they rose and forth they went,
Taking away this martyr from his bier,
And in a tomb of marble, carved and clear,
Did they enclose his little body sweet;
Where he is now- grant us him to meet!
O you young Hugh of Lincoln, slain also
By cursed Jews, as is well known to all,
Since it was but a little while ago,
Pray you for us, sinful and weak, who call,
That, of His mercy, God will still let fall
Something of grace, and mercy multiply,
For reverence of His Mother dear on high. Amen.

John Henry Newman, "Discourses to Mixed Congregations," pp. 357-60

Such art thou, Holy Mother, in the creed and in the worship of the Church, the defence of
many truths, the grace and smiling light of every devotion. In thee, O Mary, is fulfilled,
as we can bear it, an original purpose of the Most High. He once had meant to come on
earth in heavenly glory, but we sinned; and then He could not safely visit u,, except with
shrouded radiance and a bedimmed mahesty. for He was God. So He came Himself in
weakness, not in power; and He sent thee a creature in His stead, with a creature's
comeliness and lustre suited to our state. And now thy very face and form, dear Mother,
speak to us OI the Eternal; not like earthly beauty, dangerous to look upon, but like the
morning star, which is thy emblem, bright and musical, breathing purity, telling of
heaven, and infusing peace. O harbinger of day! O hope of the pilgrim! lead us still as
thou hast led; in the dark night, across the bleak wilderness, guide us on to our Lord Jesus
guide us home.

Many more references to Mary here: http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/newman-

mary.html

A Country Priest by George Bernanos

“The eyes of Our Lady are the only real child-eyes that have ever been raised to our
shame and sorrow… they are eyes of gentle pity, wondering sadness, and with something
more in them, never yet known or expressed, something that makes her younger than sin,
younger than the race from which she sprang, and though a mother by grace, mother of
all graces, our little youngest sister.”

Cristabel (first part) by Samuel T. Coleridge

Mary mother, save me now!

(Said Christabel,) And who art thou?

The lady strange made answer meet,

And her voice was faint and sweet: -
Have pity on my sore distress,
I scarce can speak for weariness:
Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear!
Said Christabel, How camest thou here?
And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet,
Did thus pursue her answer meet: -
My sire is of a noble line,
And my name is Geraldine:
Five warriors seized me yestermorn,
Me, even me, a maid forlorn:
They choked my cries with force and fright,
And tied me on a palfrey white.
The palfrey was as fleet as wind,
And they rode furiously behind.
They spurred amain, their steeds were white:
And once we crossed the shade of night.

As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,

I have no thought what men they be;
Nor do I know how long it is
(For I have lain entranced I wis)
Since one, the tallest of the five,
Took me from the palfrey`s back,
A weary woman, scarce alive.
Some muttered words his comrades spoke:
He placed me underneath this oak;
He swore they would return with haste;
Whither they went I cannot tell -
I thought I heard, some minutes past,
Sounds as of a castle bell.
Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she),
And help a wretched maid to flee.

Anticipating the Passion (from the life of the Virgin Mary) by Rainer Maria Rilke
If you had really wanted to be strong,
you would not have come from a woman's womb.
For messiahs are quarried from mountains
where the sturdy and strong comes from stone.

Are you not sorry to have despoiled your land

by such limitations? I am weak, don't you see;
I only had streams of milk or tears to offer,
and you were ever so much more than me.

So much ado when your birth to me was announced.

You could have been born fierce and wild from the start.
If you only needed tigers to tear you to pieces,
why did I learn gentleness as an art

by which I wove for you a soft, pure gown

without even the slightest seam
for comfort--: that's how my life has been,
which you now have turned upside down.

The Virgin Mary To The Child Jesus by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I.

Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One!

My flesh, my Lord!--what name? I do not know
A name that seemeth not too high or low,
Too far from me or heaven.
My Jesus, that is best! that word being given
By the majestic angel whose command
Was softly as a man's beseeching said,
When I and all the earth appeared to stand
In the great overflow
Of light celestial from his wings and head.
Sleep, sleep, my saving One!

II.

And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed

And speechless Being--art Thou come for saving?
The palm that grows beside our door is bowed
By treadings of the low wind from the south,
A restless shadow through the chamber waving:
Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun;
But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth,
Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.
Art come for saving, O my weary One?

III.

Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary

Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul
High dreams on fire with God;
High songs that make the pathways where they roll
More bright than stars do theirs; and visions new
Of Thine eternal nature's old abode.
Suffer this mother's kiss,
Best thing that earthly is,
To guide the music and the glory through,
Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings
Of any seraph wing!
Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!

IV.

The slumber of His lips meseems to run

Through my lips to mine heart; to all its shiftings
Of sensual life, bring contrariousness
In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down
As Moses did, and die, 1 --and then live most.
I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences,
That stand with your peculiar light unlost,
Each forehead with a high thought for a crown,
Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throw
No shade against the wall! How motionless
Ye round me with your living statuary,
While through your whiteness, in and outwardly,
Continual thoughts of God appear to go,
Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear,
To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes,
Though their external shining testifies
To that beatitude within, which were
Enough to blast an eagle at his sun.
I fall not on my sad clay face before ye;
I look on His. I know
My spirit which dilateth with the woe
Of His mortality,
May well contain your glory.
Yea, drop your lids more low,
Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me!
Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One!

V.

We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem.

The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,
Softened their horned faces
To almost human gazes
Towards the newly born.
The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks
Brought visionary looks,
As yet in their astonished hearing rung
The strange, sweet angel-tongue.
The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
Knelt reverent, sweeping round,
With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground,
The incense, myrrh and gold,
These baby hands were impotent to hold.
So, let all earthlies and celestials wait
Upon thy royal state!
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

VI.

I am not proud--meek angels, ye invest

New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest
On mortal lips,--"I am not proud"--not proud!
Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son,
Albeit over Him my head is bowed
As others bow before Him, still mine heart
Bows lower than their knees. O centuries
That roll, in vision, your futurities
My future grave athwart,--
Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keep
Watch o'er this sleep,--
Say of me as the heavenly said,--"Thou art
The blessedest of women!"--blessedest,
Not holiest, not noblest,--no high name,
Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame,
When I sit meek in heaven!

VII.
For me--for me--
God knows that I am feeble like the rest!--
I often wandered forth, more child than maiden,
Among the midnight hills of Galilee,
Whose summits looked heaven-laden;
Listening to silence as it seemed to be
God's voice, so soft yet strong--so fain to press
Upon my heart as heaven did on the height,
And waken up its shadows by a light,
And show its vileness by a holiness.
Then I knelt down most silent like the night,
Too self-renounced for fears,
Raising my small face to the boundless blue
Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears.
God heard them falling after--with His dew.

VIII.

So, seeing my corruption, can I see.

This Incorruptible now born of me
This fair new Innocence no sun did chance
To shine on, (for even Adam was no child,)
Created from my nature all defiled,
This mystery from out mine ignorance--
Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more
Than others do, or I did heretofore?--
Can hands wherein such burden pure has been,
Not open with the cry, "Unclean, unclean!"
More oft than any else beneath the skies?
Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son!
The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise,
Must all less lowly wait
Than I, upon thy state!--
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

IX.

Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe,

Come, crown me Him a king!
Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling
Their light where fell a curse.
And make a crowning for this kingly brow!--
What is my word?--Each empyreal star
Sits in a sphere afar
In shining ambuscade:
The child-brow, crowned by none,
Keeps its unchildlike shade.
Sleep, sleep, my crownless One!

X.

Unchildlike shade!--no other babe doth wear

An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.--
No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen,
To float like speech the speechless lips between;
No dovelike cooing in the golden air,
No quick short joys of leaping babyhood.
Alas, our earthly good
In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee:
Yet, sleep, my weary One!

XI.

And then the drear, sharp tongue of prophecy,

With the dread sense of things which shall be done,
Doth smite me inly, like a sword--a sword?--
(That "smites the Shepherd!") then I think aloud
The words "despised,"--"rejected,"--every word
Recoiling into darkness as I view
The darling on my knee.
Bright angels,--move not!--lest ye stir the cloud
Betwixt my soul and His futurity!
I must not die, with mother's work to do,
And could not live--and see.

XII.

It is enough to bear
This image still and fair--
This holier in sleep,
Than a saint at prayer:
This aspect of a child
Who never sinned or smiled--
This presence in an infant's face:
This sadness most like love,
This love than love more deep,
This weakness like omnipotence,
It is so strong to move!
Awful is this watching place,
Awful what I see from hence--
A king, without regalia,
A God, without the thunder,
A child, without the heart for play;
Ay, a Creator rent asunder
From His first glory and cast away
On His own world, for me alone
To hold in hands created, crying--Son!

XIII.

That tear fell not on Thee

Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in Thy slumber!
Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number
Which through the vibratory palm-trees run
From summer wind and bird,
So quickly hast Thou heard
A tear fall silently?--
Wak'st Thou, O loving One?

Sergei Bulgakov

In the words [of Fr. Sergius Bulgakov], when the Holy Spirit came to dwell in the Virgin
Mary, she acquired "a dyadic life, human and divine; that is, She was completely deified,
because in Her hypostatic being was manifest the living, creative revelation of the Holy
Spirit" (Archpriest Sergei Bulgakov, The Unburnt Bush, 1927, p. 154). "She is a perfect
manifestation of the Third Hypostasis" (Ibid., p. 175), "a creature, but also no longer a
creature" (P. 19 1)....But we can say with the words of St. Epiphanius of Cyprus: "There
is an equal harm in both these heresies, both when men demean the Virgin and when, on
the contrary, they glorify Her beyond what is proper" (Panarion, Against the
Collyridians). This Holy Father accuses those who give Her an almost divine worship:
"Let Mary be in honor, but let worship be given to the Lord" (same source). "Although
Mary is a chosen vessel, still she was a woman by nature, not to be distinguished at all
from others. Although the history of Mary and Tradition relate that it was said to Her
father Joachim in the desert, 'Thy wife hath conceived,' still this was done not without
marital union and not without the seed of man" (same source). "One should not revere the
saints above what is proper, but should revere their Master. Mary is not God, and did not
receive a body from heaven, but from the joining of man and woman; and according to
the promise, like Isaac, She was prepared to take part in the Divine Economy. But, on the
other hand, let none dare foolishly to offend the Holy Virgin" (St. Epiphanius, "Against
the Antidikomarionites"). The Orthodox Church, highly exalting the Mother of God in its
hymns of praise, does not dare to ascribe to Her that which has not been communicated
about Her by Sacred Scripture or Tradition. "Truth is foreign to all overstatements as well
as to all understatements. It gives to everything a fitting measure and fitting place"
(Bishop Ignatius Brianchaninov).
(http://www.answers.com/topic/sergei-bulgakov#cite_note-5)

The Glories of Mary by St. Alphonsus Ligouri

Oh Mary!.oh my most dear mother! in what an

abyss of evil I should find myself, if thou, with
thy kind hand, hadst not so often preserved me!
Yea, how many years should I already have
been in hell, if thou, with thy powerful prayers,
hadst not rescued me! My grievous sins were
hurrying me there; divine justice had already
condemned me; the raging demons were waiting
to execute the sentence ; but thou didst appear, oh
mother, not invoked nor asked by me, and hast
saved me. Oh my dear deliverer, what return
can I make thee for so much grace and so much
love? Thou hast overcome the hardness of my
heart, and hast drawn me to love thee and con
fide in thee. And oh, into what an abyss of
evils I afterwards should have fallen, if thou,
with thy kind hand, hadst not so many timei
protected me from the dangers into which I was
on the brink of falling! Continue, oli my hope,
continue to save me from hell, but first of all
from the sins into which I might again fall.

This page was very helpful:

http://www.mariedenazareth.com/1834.0.html?&L=1