Salve. This anthem of the Blessed Virgin, which the Church bids her children use from Trinity to Advent, begins with a salutation. In addressing our Mother, we are to copy the Archangel who, when he came with a message to the lowly child at Nazareth, begins by saluting her. Hail! full of grace. But though the word, which is here put into the lips of us sinners, means, "Be thou safe and well," it is not a wholly disinterested salutation; there is an idea of wanting a favour implied in it, though we do not actually ask for it. It is like the cheerful "Good-morning, sir!" of the beggar. Our Hail here has not so much the majesty of the salutation of an Archangel as the cry of distress of a banished child.

Regina. She is appealed to as a Queen; she asks as a Queen; she is answered as a Queen; she gives as a Queen. "I pray thee speak to the King, for he cannot deny thee anything.... I will speak for thee to the King.... And the King arose to meet her, and bowed to her, and sat down upon his throne. And a throne was set for the King's Mother, and she sat on his right hand. And she said to him: I desire one small petition of thee; do not put me to confusion. And the King said to her: My Mother, ask, for I must not turn away thy face." (3 Kings ii. 17-20.) Such is the beautiful picture Holy Scripture portrays for us of King Solomon and his mother Bethsabee. "But a greater than Solomon is here"; and we are addressing His Mother. With what confidence then may we say our Salve Regina! She has pledged herself to speak to the King for us, and her Royal Son will give her all that she asks. She is the Queen of Patriarchs, Prophets, Apostles, Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins—yes, Queen of all Saints. Why? Because when they were "poor banished children" on earth they recognised her as their Queen, and did not address their Salve to her in vain.

Mater. Not only is she Queen of Heaven and my Queen, but also she is the Mother of each one of the banished children. "I will not leave you orphans," Jesus said when He was leaving the sorrowing disciples; and a little later, when His last moment drew near, He showed them their Mother, saying to St John, who represented the whole human race: "Behold thy Mother!" and to her: "Behold thy son," and in him all thy banished children!

What a consolation it would be to me if I realised more that I have a Mother in Heaven! My first thought in any trouble, difficulty, or perplexity would be: "Salve sancta Parens!"

MisericordiÆ. She is the Mother of so many virtues—of fair love, of knowledge, of good counsel, of holy hope, of divine grace—yes, and the Mother of Sorrows too; but here her children love to call her "Mother of mercy," of pity, for they are exiles, and it is she who can effect their ransom. Mercy—this is what they who say the Salve Regina need. They are poor, banished, weeping children, and they need the pity, the mercy, the sympathy of their Mother. How comes it that there is no sorrow with which the Heart of Mary cannot sympathise? How is it that "never is it heard of that her children turn to her in vain"? Because the "sword pierced her own heart also." No heart except that of her Divine Son can sympathise like the seven-times pierced heart of Mary. It is because she understands so well the sorrows of a bleeding heart, that not the smallest need of any one of her smallest children, who appeals to her, is overlooked. How merciful should they be who have such a merciful Mother! "Go thou and do in like manner," was our Blessed Lord's injunction when He had been telling of the mercy of the Good Samaritan. (St Luke x. 37.) Am I merciful in my judgments of others; merciful when I am talking of them; merciful to those who have wronged me; merciful to those who come to me for pardon; merciful in my thoughts? O Virgin most merciful, pray for me!

Vita. She is our life, for it was she who gave life to our Redeemer. It was from Mary's veins that He took the Blood which He shed for our salvation. She did not spare her Son, her only Son, (Gen. xxii. 16), but offered Him up for a sacrifice for us. In every truth she can say: "In me is all hope of life." (Ecclus. xxiv. 25.)

Dulcedo. Our sweetness. Think of her sweetness all through her life—when the Angel came to her; during the three months that she helped Elizabeth; when there was no room for her in the inn at Bethlehem; when her Son seemed to take no notice of her during His ministerial work; when she met Him on the Way of Sorrows; when she stood by the Cross; when she gently bathed His wounds and prepared His Body for the grave; when she consoled the mourning disciples; when He appeared to her on Easter Day; when she kissed His footprints as He ascended to Heaven; when the Holy Ghost came down upon her. Even from her body after the soul had left it, and even from her grave after the body had left it, there came a delicious odour, reminding all who enjoyed it of the sweetness of the Mother who had left them. And this sweetness her children must try to copy. Is my sweetness for ever proclaiming itself to all with whom I come in contact—by my patience under the little trials of everyday life, by the kind word with which I meet the sharp, sarcastic one, by my extreme care of the feelings of others, by my universal kindness, by the humility with which I bear humiliations, by the ready way in which I prefer everybody else to myself? O my Mother, pray for thy child, and teach me how to copy thee!

Et Spes Nostra. How necessary is hope to the poor banished children! Without it they would indeed be in a desperate condition; but Mary is ever inspiring them with hope. Ego Mater sanctÆ spei. (I am the Mother of holy hope.) And her hope is all for her children: she has no need of it for herself. She is a true Mother—always hopeful of her children, never giving them up.

It is impossible for a child of Mary not to share her Mother's holy hope. A child of Mary cannot despair! When we think about death and final perseverance, what holy hope at once fills our hearts as we remember that we have put that terrible moment into the hands of our Mother! Ora pro nobis, nunc et in hora mortis nostrÆ. (Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.) "Hail, our hope!" Before these words all fears disappear. For never has it been known that those who appeal to the Mother of holy hope appeal in vain.

Salve. We repeat our salutation. We do not want her to forget us.

The importunate are ever dear to the heart of Mary as they are to the Heart of her Divine Son. Let us constantly greet her with our Salve—it will be enough to appeal to her Mother-heart, and she will give us whatever we are needing.

Ad Te. To thee. To whom should we go if not to the Mother whom Jesus has given us. "Behold thy Mother!" It is only natural that we should turn to thee. Monstra te esse matrem. Show thyself to be a mother by hearkening to our cry.

Clamamus—do we cry. It is a direct cry for help now—we make no secret of it—the children are calling aloud for their Mother—their need is so great that they care not who hears them.

Exules. At last we describe ourselves; one word is sufficient—exules. We are exiles; we are not at home; we are banished from our country. There is something so pathetic about an exile. How he cherishes any news of his dear country! How he writes every little detail of his life and of the strange land to his mother at home! How he longs for her letters!

Mary is my Mother, and I am an exile. Do I love to hear about my own country? Do I tell my Mother of all the difficulties of the way and allow her to console me with stories of the Homeland? "How shall we sing in a strange land?" It is possible, by keeping in touch with Mary. She will so inspire us with hope and with love for our heavenly country that we shall often find our hearts light enough to soar beyond this land of exile, and to join in the ceaseless praises of those who have reached home.

Queen of Heaven, give me a real desire for Heaven.

Filii EvÆ. We account for our exile by explaining that we are children of Eve. We had another mother once, and she brought misery on all her children, and they were all with her "driven out from Paradise," and an angel with a flaming sword was put at the entrance to prevent their getting back. Poor children! Is there any use in crying for re-admittance? Yes, for before the justice of God drove out Eve and her children, He spoke of another Mother, who was, through her Divine Son, to undo all the harm that Eve had done, and to "open the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers." To whom, then, is it more natural for the poor banished children of Eve to turn than to the Mother whose one idea is to get them back?

And with our cries are joined those of other banished children whose cry: "How long!" is ever ascending to Heaven. It is their Mother Mary whom they long to see; for as the turn of each one's banishment expires, she it is who comes to open the gate and bring them to the "better country" which they have so long desired.

When we say our Salve, let us remember those souls who, though they are holy, are still banished children, and let us intercede with their Mother for them.

Ad Te Suspiramus. To thee do we send up our sighs. The idea is that each breath is a sigh, and a sigh meant for our Mother to hear. Well would it be for us if this were true! It would change the character of our exile. A sigh meant for Our Blessed Lady could not be one of discontent and murmuring and rebellion against our lot. The very fact that it is intended for her would make it full of love and hope and submission to God's will. It would be like the sigh of a child whose mother has promised it some little pleasure. The time seems very long to the little one, and as she sits patiently by her mother's side, a sigh escapes her now and then—a very marked and intentional sigh! What does it mean? It means that though she will not speak or do anything that her mother might not like, yet she would remind her mother of her presence and let her know that she is feeling the time very long. Does the mother mind the sighs? Oh no, for each one tells her of the love of her child, and makes her anxious to shorten the time of waiting if she can.

Gementes et Flentes. The sighs become more audible—groaning and weeping—the exiles are mourning the loss of things they can never have again till they get home. It is one of the times when they feel that the harps must be hung up, (Ps. cxxxvi.), when mirth and joy are altogether out of place. Such times will come in our land of exile; and these are the times when we shall do well to cry out to our Mother.

O Mary, look upon thy weeping children, and as the great wail of suffering humanity rises up to thee, "show thyself a Mother," the Mother of Consolation. Come to the suffering hearts that cry for thee, and make them understand that joy and gladness is for them, even in the land of their exile ever since the Sun of justice has risen over it "with healing in His wings." Whisper to each heartbroken one, words of hope and consolation; tell of reparation, of mortification, of detachment, of the immense value of suffering, till the sorrowing heart is willing, yea glad, to suffer.

In hoc Lacrymarum Valle. In this vale. Our land of exile is a Valley of Humiliation. It was here that Jesus came to stay, when He humbled Himself even to the death of the Cross; and here it is that He would have each one of His children wait till the humiliations of the valley have taught them to conquer self-love. "Be you humbled, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in the time of visitation." (1 Pet. v. 6.)

It is a vale of tears—a vale where Jesus wept; a vale which has been sanctified by the tears of a Magdalen, and a Peter, and of multitudes of others who have learnt here to be saints; a vale where every tear shed by His children is treasured by God. "Thou hast set my tears in Thy sight." (Ps. lv. 9.)

We read of two occasions on which Jesus wept—once for the sorrows of His friends (St John xi. 35), and once for the sins of His enemies. (St Luke xix. 41.) I need not then be ashamed of tears—not even if I have to say with the Psalmist: "My tears have been my bread day and night." (Ps. xli. 4.) But I must be careful that they resemble those of Jesus, that the cause of them is never self-love or self-pity, but sorrow for my own sins and those of others, and for anything which grieves the Heart of Jesus. "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy," for He Himself "will wipe away all tears from their eyes." (Ps. cxxv. 5, and Apoc. vii. 17.)

Eia ergo Advocata Nostra. Therefore, just because of our misery and need—it is our only plea, and one which appeals more than any other to a Mother's heart—we appeal to her as our Advocate: one who will plead our cause, who will speak to the King for us and tell Him of our needs, as she did long ago at Cana of Galilee. Had ever banished children such an advocate—one to whom the Judge has pledged Himself: "I must not turn away thy face!"

O Advocata nostra, plead for me with thy Son when I stand before Him to be judged! In that terrible moment remember my Salve, for I shall be unable to say it then.

Misericordes Oculos ad nos Converte. Turn thy merciful eyes upon us. We only ask her to look. It is quite enough for a mother to see her child in trouble. She does not need to be told what to do.

Et Jesum Benedictum Fructum Ventris tui nobis post hoc Exilium Ostende. Here we get to the point of the prayer—the sighs, and groans, and cries, and tears of the banished children are all because they want to see Jesus. And after this our exile show unto us the Blessed Fruit of thy womb, Jesus. "We would see Jesus" (St John xii. 21), and we come to ask His Mother to show Him to us. This is her great work; and she turns to the children and says: "Whatsoever He shall say to you, do ye," and you shall see His Face one day.

After this our exile.

It is because I cannot see Jesus that I am so often in trouble in the land of exile. If my faith were strong enough I should see Him continually, and sorrow would flee away. We have not got to wait till the voyage is o'er before seeing Him. Many and many a glimpse of the Blessed Fruit of her womb does our Mother give us. To be near her means that we are near Him too. Each Communion, each absolution—yea, each humiliation and sorrow is our Mother letting us see Jesus if we will only look; and when she stands on the shore to show Him at last, we shall see that it is the "same Jesus" Who so often walked with us in the land of our exile, though our eyes were for the most part holden by our want of faith, and we did not recognise Him.

O Clemens, O Pia, O Dulcis Virgo Maria. O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary. We multiply our words in trying to express to our Mother something of what we feel towards her, but they all mean the same thing—that she is a Mother. Her sweetness is as ointment poured forth, and attracts all to it. Her kindness and love, too, have been known to all since she stood at the Foot of the Cross, and received all her banished children into her stricken heart. Never in vain can we appeal to our sweet Mother. And so with renewed confidence we will say our Salve, rejoicing even in this vale of tears because we have a Mother who knows all about us, and who will never forget us; whose one desire is to show us the Blessed Fruit of her womb, Jesus; who will teach us to sing the Lord's song in a strange land, even as she sang her Magnificat; and who will one day, when the days of our exile are over, sing with us the ever "new song" of Redemption to "Him Who loved us and washed us in His Blood."

Till then, dear Mother, help us to be patient, and help us to learn the lessons of the valley, remembering that they will never be learned at all if they are not learned here.

Colloquy. The Salve Regina.