The Weeping Madonna of La Salette

photograph of a statue of Our Lady of La Salette, taken 1 December 2007, by nikolastan, swiped off WikipediaI see thee, O beautiful Queen,
   At morning, at noon, and at night;
O Mater amata, thou art
   A vision that hatmteth my sight;
Not on thy bright throne above,
   So dazzlingly, radiantly fair,
No, tenderest Mother, ah, no;
   I see thee not as thou art there.

But on this poor, sad, sinful earth,
   Here sitting and weeping alone,
With head bended low on thy hands;
   Methinks I e en catch thy faint moan;
Why, sweetest Queen-Mother, wilt say?
   Leavest thou thy bright throne on high,
To descend to this pitiful earth,
   To weep, to lament and to sigh?

Not long dost thou leave us in doubt
   Of the cause of thy grief and thy tears;
Thine answer hath lived in my heart,
   Thro’ many long, wearisome years;
Thou weepest that faith is so weak,
   That charity, too, hath grown cold;
Dost lament that in blindness most sad,
   So many have strayed from the fold.

Oh! Mother, not all thy complaint,
   Can I venture here to repeat,
But mingling my tears with thine own,
   I cast myself down at thy feet,
And pray from my innermost heart:
   Enwrap us about with thy stole,
And shield us, O Mother thine own
   Oh, pity my sorrowing soul!

Again and again hast thou come,
   With warnings, and pleadings, and prayers,
And whene er thy sweet voice is heard,
   To us the same message it bears;
O Refuge of sinners, O Queen
   Of the great, starry realms above,
Can it be that men s hearts are not moved
   By such wondrous proofs of thy love!

– J. F. Fitsgerald