This is the image of the Queen
Who reigns in bliss above;
Of her who is the hope of men,
Whom men and angels love;
Most Holy Mary, at thy feet
I bend a suppliant knee;
In this thy own sweet month of May,
Dear Mother of my God, I pray;
Do thou remember me.

The homage offered at the feet
Of Mary's image here
To Mary's self at once ascends
Above the starry sphere.
Most Holy Mary, at thy feet
I bend a suppliant knee,
In all my joy, in all my pain,
O Virgin-born without a stain,
Do thou remember me.

Sweet are the flow'rets we have culled,
This image to adorn;
But sweeter far is Mary's self,
That rose without a thorn.
Most Holy Mary, at thy feet
I bend a suppliant knee,
When on the bed of death I lie,
By him who did for sinners die,
Do thou remember me.

O Lady, by the stars that make
A glory round thy head;
And by the pure uplifted hands,
That for thy children plead;
When at the Judgement-seat I stand,
And my dread Saviour see,
When waves of night around me roll
And hell is raging for my soul;
O then remember me.