Hiatus 3340

A Hymn for Passion-Tide
A Madrian Hymn

 Our Lady has put on Her veil
To tread a darksome path.
Her fair form waxeth cold and pale
Beneath Irkalla's wrath.

She entered in that region drear:
'Who comes?' the demons cry.
She answered: 'Thou hast naught to fear,
For it is none but I.'

'Your precious love, Your radiant light,
Fill us with hellish dread,
We dare not stand within their sight.'
'I give them up,' She said.

Our Mistress, She has gone away
Into the land of pain.
Her laughter, like the sun's bright ray,
When shall it ring again?

She was our Sun in times before,
The light of our small sky;
And now the birds will sing no more,
The rivers all run dry.

And all that's fair on earth or sea
Is withered out of form.
Without our Mistress, what are we
But leaves upon the storm?

And all that's sweet upon the earth
Is turned to bitter gall
For want of She that loved us so,
She died to save us all.

Yet I believe the day shall come,
The clarion call shall sound,
A host of angels beat the drum
And thunder break the ground,

And She Who made the earth and Heaven
Shall walk on earth again;
And hell's foundations shall be riven,
And hell's gates break in twain.

And all the flowers shall come to birth
Unfurled like victory's banners;
And our Princess shall come on earth
Amid our high hosannas.