Mary, sweet peace, solace dear
Of pained mortal ! You're the fount
Whence emanates the stream of succour,
That without cease our soil fructifies.
From thy throne, from heaven high,
Kindly hear my sorrowful cry !
And may thy shining veil protect
My voice that rises with rapid flight.
Thou art my Mother, Mary, pure;
Thou'll be the fortress of my life;
Thou'll be my guide on this angry sea.
If ferociously vice pursues me,
If in my pains death harasses me,
Help me, and drive away my woes !
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