Daily, daily sing to Mary—
Sing, my soul, her praises due:
All her feasts, her actions worship
With the heart’s devotion true.
Lost in wondering contemplation,
Be her majesty confest;
Call her Mother, call her Virgin—
Happy Mother, Virgin blest.
She is mighty to deliver;
Call her, trust her lovingly;
When the tempest rages round thee,
She will calm the troubled sea.
Gifts of Heaven she has given,
Noble lady, to our race—
She, the Queen, who decks her subjects
With the light of God‘s own grace.
Sing, my tongue, the Virgin’s trophies,
Who for us her maker bore;
For the curse of old inflicted,
Peace and blessing to restore.
Sing in songs of praise unending,
Sing the world’s majestic Queen;
Weary not, nor faint in telling
All the gifts she gives to men.
All my senses, heart, afiections,
Strive to sound her glory forth:
Spread abroad the sweet memorials
Of the Virgin’s priceless worth.
Where the voice of music thrilling—
Where the tongue of eloquence—
That can utter hymns beseeming
All her matchless excellence?
All our joys do flow from Mary,
All then join her praise to sing;
Trembling sing the Virgin Mother,
Mother of our Lord and King.
Where we sing her awful glory,
Far above our fancy’s reach,
Let our hearts be quick to offer—
Love the heart alone can teach.