AMPHORA 
VIII 
 
 
HEN all the world is wrapt in cloud, 
The storm-fiend yells and raves aloud, 
Our heads in peace to Thee are bowed 
With Hail, O holy Mary ! 
 
When on the burnt and blazing plains 
The hard sun withers up our veins, 
We raise to Thee our subtle strains 
Of Hail, Thou holy Mary ! 
 
When on the sea its combers grim 
Circle the sky from rim to rim, 
We sing to thee the holy hymn 
Of Hail, Thou holy Mary ! 
 
When on the mountains in the ice 
We hang above some precipice, 
We offer Thee the sacrifice, 
And hail Thee, holy Mary ! 
 
Still, when the icy breeze of death 
Cuts through the bastions of breath, 
Thou hearest him who murmureth 
All hail, O holy Mary !        Amen. 
W 
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