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Daily, daily, sing to Mary,
sing my soul, her praises due;
all her feasts, her actions honour,
with the heart’s devotion true.
Lost in wond’ring contemplation
be her majesty confessed:
call her Mother, call her Virgin,
happy Mother, Virgin blest.
Sing, my tongue, the Virigin’s trophies,
who for us her Maker bore;
for the curse of old inflicted,
peace and blessings to restore.
Sing in songs of praise unending,
sing the world’s majestic Queen;
weary not nor faint in telling
all the gifts she gives to men.
All my senses, heart, affections,
strive to sound her glory forth;
spread abroad the sweet memorials,
of the Virgin’s priceless worth,
where the voice of music thrilling,
where the tongues of eloquence,
and can utter hymns beseeming
all her matchless excellence?
All our joys do flow from Mary,
all then join her praise to sing;
trembling sing the Virgin Mother,
Mother of our Lord and King,
while we sing her awful glory,
far above our fancy’s reach,
let our hearts be quick to offer
love the heart alone can teach.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 7 8 7 D
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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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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 1994 | # 140 |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
