1 The angel sped on wings of light,
With wondrous tidings laden;
He came from heav'n's unclouded height
To greet a lowly maiden:

2 For God upon her low estate
Had looked with royal favor;
And all earth's kindreds celebrate
The mighty gift He gave her.

3 Oh, awful bliss! that from her womb
Should spring the Uncreated,
The great and holy One, for Whom
The world so long had waited.

4 O Son divine! we fain would trace
Thy mother's steps so lowly,
Her joys and woes, her saintly grace,
Her life so calm and holy.

5 But lo! as all too near we press,
A veil the scene enfoldeth!
No tongue may sings its loveliness,
No eye its peace beholdeth!

6 And as we read with kindling eye
This day's all-gracious story,
The blessèd mother passeth by
And Thine is all the glory!

Amen.