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Prayer, O Mary
No. 211. The Raccolta (1910).

O MARY, who, crowned with stars, hast for a footstool under thy feet the moon, and for thy throne the wings of angels; turn thy eyes upon this valley of sorrows, and listen to the voice of one who puts his hope and refuge in thee. Thou dost now enjoy the infinite sweetness of Paradise, but in the midst of joy and splendour thou bearest always in thy inmost heart the recollection of what thou didst suffer in this life. Thou hast tried the needs of this exile, and therefore knowest how bitterly flow the days of those who live in sorrow.

Ever in thy remembrance rises up a mount covered with armed men and the dregs of the people; thou hearest ever a voice, so well known by thee, which says to thee: “O Lady, behold, in my place, thy son.” And these thoughts move thee to profound tenderness, and thou dost realize, O blessed one, that on that mountain and with those words thou wast destined to be the Mother of the living.

Without thee what would life be to the unhappy children of Adam. Each one of them has a sorrow which tries him, a grief which overwhelms, a wound which torments. And all have recourse to thee, as to a port of safety, to a fount of complete refreshment. When the waves lash themselves into fury, the wayfarer turns to thee and prays for calm. To thee has recourse the orphan who, like a flower in the wilderness, lies exposed to the whirlwind of life. To thee pray the poor who want their daily bread; and not one of them remains without help and consolation. But if all find in thee aid and refreshment, what shall we say, to whom thou art wont to appear, glorious as thou art in heaven.

O Mary, mother of all, enlighten our minds, soften our hearts, so that this most pure love which streams from thy eyes may be poured forth on every side, and produce those marvellous fruits which thy Son prepared for by shedding his Blood, whilst thou didst suffer the most cruel pangs at the foot of the Cross.