Shall we not love thee, Mother dear, Whom Jesus loves so well, And to his glory, year by year Thy praise and honour tell? Thee did he choose from whom to take True flesh, his flesh to be; In it to suffer for our sake, And by it make us free. O wondrous depth of love divine, That he should bend so low; And, Mary, O what joy was thine The Saviour's love to know. Joy to be mother of the Lord, Yet thine the truer bliss, In ev'ry thought and deed and word To be for ever his. Now in the realm of life above Close to thy Son thou art, While on thy soul glad streams of love Flow from his sacred heart. Jesu, the Virgin's holy Son, Praise we thy mother blest; Grant when our earthly course is run, Life with the saints at rest.