Mother, all beautiful, hear us today;
Lead us thyself to the altar, we pray
O'er us thy mantle of purity place
Jesus is coming to flood us with grace.

He is all holy and we are so weak,
Veiling our faces His presence we seek,
Yet he is calling and winning us so,
Holding thy hand to the altar we go.

Thou art his Mother, he gave us to thee,
Wounded and dying on Calvary's tree,
Mother from birth to his life's dark eclipse,
Lay him thyself on our tremulous lips.

Hover still near while he stays in our breast,
thanksgiving make thou to our glorious guest;
Pour his sweet rivers of blood o'er our soul,
Show us his beauty, his virtues enrol.

Mother all loving, we know thou wilt hear;
Clad in his glory and strength, can we fear?
Hope is triumphant! With Jesus and thee
Angels in wonder our happiness see.