To love thee, O Mary,
Is our only joy;
Mother pure, thy glory
shall our lips employ.
1 See, the storm is raging,
Clouds above us lower;
All our thoughts engaging,
Save us by thy pow'r.
To love thee, O Mary,
Is our only joy;
Mother pure, thy glory
shall our lips employ.
2 Billows wildly leaving,
Fill us with alarm;
to our anchor cleaving,
Thou wilt calm the storm.
To love thee, O Mary,
Is our only joy;
Mother pure, thy glory
shall our lips employ.
3 Thy sweet light brings gladness,
Gentle "Star of Morn,"
Takes from life its sadness,
Darkest skies adorns.
To love thee, O Mary,
Is our only joy;
Mother pure, thy glory
shall our lips employ.
Source: Laudis Corona: the new Sunday school hymn book, containing a collection of Catholic hymns, arranged for the principal seasons and festivals of the year #99