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Rh All in stoles of snowy whiteness, Unto thee the angels sing; Unto thee the virgin choirs,— Mother of th' eternal King!

Joyful in thy path they scatter Roses white and lilies fair; Yet with thy celestial beauty Rose nor lily may compare.

Oh, that this low earth of ours, Answ'ring to th' angelic strain, With thy praises might re-echo, Till the heavens replied again.

 

, thou Star of Ocean, Portal of the sky, Ever Virgin Mother Of the Lord most high!

Oh, by Gabriel's Ave, Utter'd long ago, Eva's name reversing, Stablish peace below.

Break the captive's fetters, Light on darkness pour; All our ills expelling, Every bliss implore.

Shew thyself a Mother, Offer him our sighs; Who for us incarnate Did not thee despise. 