There is one sweet Saint above
Whom I fear we do not love
With the love which is her meed.
Worthy of our love indeed
Is the good and kind St Anne:
Let us praise her all we can.
She within whose virgin breast
Babe Divine took sweetest rest,
Jesus' Mother meek and mild,
Nay, she is thy child on high -
Where she reigns, thou must be nigh.
Thine, O Mother! the delight
To behold this blossom bright
Opening out in beauty rare;
Thine to hear her infant prayer;
Thine with wondering love to trace
Her increase in peerless grace.
Hadst thou gone from earth before
Gabriel to Mary bore
Marvellous message from above?
Did thy tender Daughter's love
Hover o'er thy parting breath,
Sweetening the pang of death?
This we know not - but we know
That in heaven, as here below,
Blessed Mary, meek and mild,
Is thy grateful, loving child.
Oh! how great thy power must be!
Use it, kind St Anne, for me.
Bid thy Daughter ask her Son
To forgive the wrongs I've done,
And, in spite of all to spare.
She will heed her mother's prayer -
And His Mother's prayer, 'tis plain,
Never, never can be vain.
What new grace shall I implore?
Ah! to feel yet more and more
Of that filial love and zeal
Which the Breton peasants feel -
Honoring as best I can
Mary's Mother, good St Anne.
- Matthew Russell, S.J.
What a beautiful poem/prayer to St Anne....