The Divine Lamp

Hail, the Savior’s Blessed Mother,
Vase elect, above all other,
Full of honor, full of grace;
Fore-ordained from years eternal,
And, Wisdom’s hand supernal,
Wrought from Adam’s ruined race.

Hail, the Heavenly word forth-bringing,
Flower from the thorns up-springing,
We, with many thorn-wounds redden,
Thou, the sinless other Eden,
Knowest not a single thorn.

Portal folded, Fount of garden,
Cell ,  of sweetest unguents Warden,
Fairest colored Fragrancy;
Frankincense and myrrh excelling,
Kinder than the solace welling
From the beauteous balsam tree.

Hail, the Virgin’s Glory brightest,
Who to pray for  men delightest,
Who didst bear the Child for us:
Hail, compassions’s Myrtle-flower,
Rose, with patience for thy dower, Nard, all odoriferous.

Vale, among the mountains lying,
Field, where no man’s plough is plying-
Oh, the harvest of that sod:
Lily of that valley lowly,
Blossom of that field all-holy,
Thence, Incarnate, springs our God.

Eden of the new creation,
Riftless  Mount, whose exhalation
Is undying chastity:
Thou of whiteness, thou of sweetness,
Thou of beauty art completeness-
Tenderness abounds in thee.

In fair art and fair material,
O’er thrones earthly and aerial,
Throne of Solomon art thou:
Ivory of purest telling,
Gold of charity’s indwelling,
Mysteries that throne endow.

O’er all palms the Palm-bearing,
None in heaven thy place is sharing,
None on earth is peer of thine:
Praise of every generation,
Thy preeminent vocation
Makes thee all, in all, outshine.

To the lunar beam like noonlight,
To the stars like queenly moonlight,
Thing create thou shinest above:
Light, that know not obscuration
Heat, that knows not deflagration-
That, thy pureness; this, thy love.

Hail, of holiness the Mother,
Full of grace above all other,
Three-fold Godhead’s three-fold Rest;
Yet, with providence maternal,
Waiting for the Word Eternal,
Special Guest-chamber for Guest.

Star, upon the blue sea shining,
Other stars at day declining,
Fairer far than angels lining
Heavenly places, nine-fold Ray;
From thy throne above the waters,
Pray for us, thy sons and daughters,
So, nor wile, nor threat of slaughters
Make us stumble on the way.

Warriors of the high election,
Marshalled under strong protection,
May we see our flag’s erection
And the crafty foe’s dejection,
Through thy Mother-potency:
Jesu, Word of God Most-highest,
Who to suppliants nought deniest,
Who free grace to souls suppliest-
Those who stand thy Mother nighest
Thou preserve and make like thee.-Adam of St Victor, 12th century

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