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Dear is to me the holy Maid,
I never can forget her;
For glorious things of her are said;
Than life I love her better:
So dear and good,
That if I should
Afflicted be,
It moves not me;
For she my soul will ravish
With constancy and love's pure fire,
And with her bounty lavish
Fulfil my heart's desire.
She wears a crown of purest gold,
Twelve shining stars attend her;
Her raiment, glorious to behold,
Surpasses far in splendor
The sun at noon;
Upon the moon
She stands, the Bride
Of him who died:
Sore travail is upon her;
She bringeth forth a noble Son
Whom all the world doth honor;
She bows before his throne.
Thereaat the Dragon raged, and stood
With open mouth before her;
But vain was his attempt, for God
His buckler broad threw o'er her.
Up to his throne
He caught his Son,
But left the foe
To rage below.
The mother, sore afflicted,
Alone into the desert fled,
There by her God protected,
By her true Father fed.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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Bible Refs:
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Rev 12;
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echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
