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!


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