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By Eleanor C. Donnelly

“Pure as the snow,” we say. Ah! never flake

Fell through the air

One-tenth as fair

As Mary’s soul was made for Christ’s dear sake.

Virgin Immaculate,

The whitest whiteness of the Alpine snows,

Beside thy stainless spirit, dusky grows.

“Pure as the stars.” Ah! never lovely night

Wore in its diadem

So pure a gem

As that which fills the ages with its light.

Virgin Immaculate,

The peerless splendors of thy soul by far

Outshine the glow of heaven’s serenest star.