When free was I, this world to make,
I crafted it for Mary's sake
O fierce is she, who's born of woman!
Who bears the laurel must greet the tomb!
The whirling winds of Egypt's sea
The torments of Gethsemane
Dread labyrinths of Babylon
She took it on, she took it on
Woman, who's given of man, is sorrow
Who cherisheth fears for morrow, a-morrow,
Accursed of men, she doth endure
Nor kens she weakness, in freedom pure
The beginning of Man is in the womb
But few there be who can make room
Within the inn, fall'n short in sin,
They lose her love, dread Death to win
Every man that breathes the spirit
Endowed by God, within the vale
Shall give account of what he's wrought
To Mother Mary, the pearl of God!
And ye who afflict her daughters dear
On the Day of Doom, ne'er shall draw near
For they are afflicted by a curse
A harlot bodes ill, but treason's worst!