  To the pagan mind, years ago, O woman, what were you? A slave, subject to brutal strength, Not mental prowess true; As woman was by nature raised, To motherhood of race, Should she below man’s level stand? Nay, rather face to face. But through Christ’s cross and legacy, E’en higher she is raised, And on a pedestal enthroned, Sweet reverence is paid; Yes, behold Christ’s blessed mother, Ideal of womanhood, Inspiring theme for poets’ dreams, All graciousness and good. So woman in thy sphere as queen, And mother of the race, God gave to you of all on earth, The highly honored place Of teacher, sculptor of mankind, For with your hands you mould The plastic mind of youth and child, More precious far than gold. |
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