OUR Lady understands Though prayerful are her folded hands; Her face is pale Within the azure shadow of her veil. Here in this shrine she seems remote, apart, For the dim centuries have quenched her fire, The slow years molded her to their desire. Ah, still she knows The ecstasy that glows In my wild heart! Once, not submissive, meek With pensive brow and duteous cheek, There came a cry exultant, strong; “My soul doth magnify the Lord!” Clear as a ringing sword I hear her song. In high humility She knew herself to be The Chosen of God, the Gate of the Divine. I kneel before her shrine, I gaze upon her tranquil face, Hail Mary, full of grace! I, too, know Love, And I am humble, proud, and wise. Our Lady understands All joy, all woe; The Son of God she laid to rest Upon her breast, She knew the wounded Hands, And there is nothing else to know.

---