Each line of added joy the swift brush gave.
Clothed was the Mother in her cloak of blue,
And crowned the Child Divine with halo wide
That in its golden light still sadly bore
The shadow of his cross. With lesser glow
Was drawn the shining ring that loving wreathed
The Queen of Grace, crowned fairest in her Son.
Not so the little maid would have it done:
Just such bright halo cruciform must shine
Round Mary’s head, and spreading, too, more wide