THE ANNUNCIATION
By Adelaide Anne Procter
How pure, and frail, and white,
The snowdrops shine!
Gather a garland bright
For Mary’s shrine.
For, born of winter snows,
These fragile flowers
Are gifts to our fair Queen
From Spring’s first hours.
For on this blessèd day
She knelt at prayer;
When, lo! before her shone
An Angel fair.
“Hail, Mary!” thus he cried,
With reverent fear:
She, with sweet wondering eyes,
Marvelled to hear.
Be still, ye clouds of Heaven!
Be silent, Earth!
And hear an Angel tell
Of Jesus’ birth,
While she, whom Gabriel hails
As full of grace,
Listens with humble faith
In her sweet face.
Be still,—Pride, War, and Pomp,
Vain Hopes, vain Fears,
For now an Angel speaks,
And Mary hears.
“Hail, Mary!” lo, it rings
Through ages on;
“Hail Mary!” it shall sound,
Till Time is done
“Hail, Mary!” infant lips
Lisp it to-day;
“Hail, Mary!” with faint smile
The dying say.
“Hail, Mary!” many a heart
Broken with grief,
In that angelic prayer
Has found relief.
And many a half-lost soul,
When turned at bay,
With those triumphant words
Has won the day.
“Hail, Mary, Queen of Heaven!”
Let us repeat,
And place our snowdrop wreath
Here at her feet.