  DOVE of the Holy Dove, His one, His mate— One art thou, single in thy mortal state To be the chosen of Love, His one, white Dove, For whom He left His place in Trinity, Letting His pinions fall Low to the earth, that His great power might be Around thee, nor appal, But, soft in singleness of strength, might bring The glory of the Father and the Son To thee, the chosen One, Amid the sounding clash of each vast wing. His Perfect, thou art made Immaculate; For thou with dovelike whiteness must elate That Heavenly Spouse arrayed, Beyond all shade, In whiteness of the Godhead of God’s throne, That loves in utter white From Person unto Person, and alone Had dwelt in His pure light, Until one day the Holy Dove was sent To Thee, O Mary, thee, O Dove on earth, And God the Son had birth Of thee, Perfection of thy God’s intent. |
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