Blessed be the mind, the heart, the hand,
That drew this icon fair,
Of beauty unsurpassable, yet sweet,
God’s Mother, rapt in prayer.
All pure her face, her hands, her heart unseen,
Chaste, white rapture, as morning glow:
She ponders deep. Her sorrow shows,
She bears the weight of souls on earth below!
Awesone, yet so love-filled and so warm!
Immaculate! her praise shall never cease,
In hearts that love and cherish her; God’s Mother!
Totus tuus! Mary’s littlest ones,
in the valley of Saint Therese.