Ave Maria! on a thousand thrones
Raised by the weary hearts that beat to thee,
As‘ neath the softer light the throbbing sea,
Thy name a spell of peace, in lingering tones
Is whispered through the world: thy truth condones
The feebler faith of worshippers that flee,
Lost in the sovereign awe, to bend the knee
By pictured holiness or breathing stones.
Mother of Christ! whom ages old adorn,
And hundred climes, by gentle thought and deed,
Forgive the sacrilege, the brandished scorn
Of the grim guardians of a narrow creed,
Who fence their folds from Love's serener law,
And “grate on scrannel pipes of wretched straw.” — ED.