O Glorious Mother of sweet Jesus, by
Whose sacred death, us from Hell's portals freeing,
Wiped out the sin, O Lady of the sky,
In which our primal father had his being,
Ah, see Love with his arrows sharp and bold,
What grievous fate he goadeth me unto !
O piteous Mother, dear ally, withhold
His unruly squadrons, let them not pursue !

O grant to me the love which is divine
And draweth up our souls to Paradise,
So I may loose these passionate bonds of mine.
Herein the balm for this wild fury lies,
This water doth to quench this fire avail
As in a plank a nail drives forth a nail.