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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?

