I Sing of a Maiden

I sing of a maiden

     that is matchless:

King of all kings

     For her Son she chose

He came as still

     To His mother's bower

As dew in April

     That falleth on the flower

He came as still

     Where His mother lay

As dew in April

     That falleth on the spray

Mother and maiden

     Was never none but she -

Well may such a lady

     God's mother be.

Anon

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