Thine are the thanes of the thousand wending worlds,
o’er which orbs and oceans thou art all ornate,
fated feet fixed firmly on the fiendish fields
of Luna, laced with looming, lustrous light
of Sol, starry stefanon on thy sainted
brow: the beams from thy beckoning breast bedew
your devotees, drench devils in doomed despair,
with the fierce, enfolding fire of fearless faith.
Mother Mary, meek and mighty, minister
of all God’s goodness and gifts, thyself greatest
after the anointed, anointing ambry,
Queen quiescent to our quandary queries.
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