An old poem (122 years old, in fact)

“Tota Pulchra Es.”

THOU art all fair, O Mother blest!
In thee is found no stain;
Thou’rt purer far than whitest crest
That decks the troubled main.

Thy soul no taint did ever bear
Of imperfection’s shade;
And Satan never counted there
The blots his wiles had made.

First creature formed since Adam’s fall
Who shared not Adam’s sin;
Thy life was spent that mortals all
Celestial life might win.

Blest day, that sees a saint conceived,
A soul all undefiled!
What wondrous mysteries are weaved
Around that sinless child!

Glad sight to Heaven’s highest court.
They view their peerless Queen;
And feeble man’s most firm support
In that weak babe is seen.

O thou fond Mother, guard me well!
I trust my soul to thee;
Defeat the serried ranks of hell.
Safe guide me o’er life’s sea.

And when, all spent my mortal days,
I kiss Death’s fatal rod.
Be “Tota pulchra es” the phrase
My soul shall hear from God.

A. B. O’N., C.S.C.
December 8.

From Ave Maria Magazine, December 13, 1890

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