MAGNIFICAT 1
(Behold, all generations shall call me blessed.)
All generations come to her calling,
hail Mary, Holy Mary!
In the cool of the quiet morning children sing
bringing lily and lilac to her shrine on the green hill,
(their will is joyous and still under their mother's eyes
and their praise is a bird in the skies with a shrill song.)
Now in the terrible noon of insistent life
we who no longer shine with innocence
cut with a knife the tough blooms of our wayward summer
to lay before her shrine in the grey grottoes,
calling her name under the stress of sin,
hail Mary, Holy Mary, pray for us in the rough sea of our shame.
Our cries are borne to her in the storm of the elements
and in the heart's storm.
(twisted and torn in the stern tempest of love
we turn and cry to her, Hail Mary, Holy Mary!)
and the moon rises serenely above the deep wood
where we stood frightened.
She is light in the dark night, blessed among women,
fair as the moon, bright as the sun.
We have wrought her image in silver and gold,
in stone and clay, as she told Elizabeth we would,
calling her blessed through the generations.
Nations have carved her image in wood and marble
according to their vision. There is no place
where her face has not been moulded in clay or gold;
there is no day passes but thousands pray
hail Mary, Holy Mary, blessed art thou!
It is just as she said
the day she bowed her head in Elizabeth's room
when her womb rang out with the Word
bounding against the pure curve of her emptiness like a bell
giving tongue to her young blessedness.
Now we tell in our generation
what the old have told
what they will tell who come after ...
hail Mary, Holy Mary, blessed art thou!
Sister Agnes
Sign. 23 November 1948
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1 (My soul) gives praise (to the Lord)
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