OUR LADY OF FATIMA
Not clad (girl winsomely) in white with sash
of field-flower blue; no replica in mien or hue
of her who stood at Lourdes, framed in a gash
of rock, and poured out healing on our rue.
Nor yet apparelled as that other you
whom eagle-sighted John foreknew and drew:
a woman wearing twelve dread stars for crown,
and the sun, the blinding sun, for a gown.
Folded in light – yea, fleshed in light, Lady,
you turn in mercy towards our century;
against our grim and monster-spawning night,
you stand to smite; yourself, God-wielded light.
The hour is late and evil grows apace
(in unbelief is grief; in pride, quick blight);
turn not away your face, Hope of our race;
in might dash down our dark, Lady of Light.
Sister M Paulinus IHM
America. 22 May 1948