Shall we not love thee, Mother dear,
Whom Jesus loves so well?
And to his glory, year by year,
Thy joy and honour tell.

Bound with the curse of sin and shame
We helpless sinners lay,
Until in tender love he came
To bear the curse away.

And thee he chose from whom to take
True flesh his flesh to be;
In it to suffer for our sake,
By it to make us free.

Thy babe he lay upon thy breast;
To thee he cried for food;
Thy gentle nursing sooth'd to rest
Th'incarnate Son of God.

O wondrous depth of grace divine
That he should bend so low,
And, Mary, oh, what joy "twas thine
In his dear love to know.

Joy to be Mother of the Lord
And thine the truer bliss,
In ev'ry thought, and deed, and word
To be forever his.

And as he loves thee, Mother dear,
We too will love thee well,
And, to his glory, year by year,
Thy joy and honour tell.

Jesus, the Virgin's holy son,
We praise thee and adore,
Who art with God the Father one
And Spirit evermore.