Amphora

AMPHORA VIII HEN all the world is wrapt in cloud, The storm-fiend yells and raves aloud, Our heads in peace to Thee are bowed With Hail, O holy Mary ! When on the burnt and blazing plains The hard sun withers up our veins, We raise to Thee our subtle strains Of Hail, Thou holy Mary ! When on the sea its combers grim Circle the sky from rim to rim, We sing to thee the holy hymn Of Hail, Thou holy Mary ! When on the mountains in the ice We hang above some precipice, We offer Thee the sacrifice, And hail Thee, holy Mary ! Still, when the icy breeze of death Cuts through the bastions of breath, Thou hearest him who murmureth All hail, O holy Mary ! Amen. W 32