Oh sweet life, oh dear Saint Mary,
Come, inspire our newest verses,
As they should be wrought to please you,
Come and join with us and sing them.
We don't know how best to praise you,
Honour you as you're deserving,
For you're blessed and you love us,
This we state, this is sufficient.
What mortal could ever number
All your graces and your grandeur?
None but God can know your merits,
Others' tongues simply can't sing them.
In the teachings of the Scriptures
You, exalted, weren't included,
Sin, that serpent, has devoured,
Consumed us, poor and wretched people.
Created only for your Lord,
You trampled, left for dead, the Devil,
You alone, by your birth, sinless,
Crushed and smashed his head asunder.
Your mother, Saint Ann, and Saint Joachim
Had no sons, but midst their sad tears,
Sighs and fasting, tribulations,
Bore you by the grace of Our Lord.
With vows, masses and much prayer,
With devotion and affliction,
Good Saint Ann, advanced in age,
Conceived you and did give birth to you.
At your birth, both earth and heaven
Celebrated everywhere, and
Joy you gave them when you came out,
Like the sun, immaculate, shone.
In a temple you retreated
Three years for Our Lord's contentment,
You a rose blossom did give him,
To him lent your virgin flower.
For in you, the Lord exulted,
Fell in love, and you he wished well,
Blessed you, sanctified, transformed you,
Body, Church, and soul united.
An angel brought to you a message,
Brought to you a benediction:
'Oh blessed woman, what's your answer?
Our Lord did choose you for his mother.'
You replied: 'I am a virgin,
How can virgins become mothers,
Thus your message does not bless me,
As a virgin, you have cursed me.'
The angel spoke: 'No, for the Lord
Will enter you and do no damage,
Your virginity he'll render
Purer than it was beforehand.
Like a looking-glass in sunlight,
Rays can't burn, they'll but it brighten,
Be not worried, don't be fearful,
The Holy Ghost will come and fill you.'
'If the flower will truly save me,'
Said the Lady, 'I'll be content
With whate'er he says and wishes,
I'm ready now to do his bidding.'
With her 'yes,' the sky did open,
And into her breast Christ entered,
He became a sweet-faced toddler,
Like a doll or a May flower.
The Holy Ghost, so speaks the gospel,
Set her heart afire, like red coals,
And with blood, supplied as needed,
Was Christ's body thus created.
And so the Babe was born, the heart's lord,
And the heart's son, say the Scriptures,
Thus in our hearts he takes refuge,
Where he can find rest and respite.