The Memorial of Mary

Thou hast thy record in the monarch’s hall,
And on the waters of the far mid sea;
And where the mighty mountain-shadows fall,
The Alpine hamlet keeps a thought of thee:
Where’er, beneath some Oriental tree,
The Christian traveller rests--where’er the child
Looks upward from the English mother’s knee,
With earnest eyes in wondering reverence mild,
There art thou known--where’er the Book of light
Bears hope and healing, there, beyond all blight,
Is borne thy memory, and all praise above.
Oh! say what deed so lifted thy sweet name,
Mary! to that pure, silent place of fame?
One lowly offering of exceeding love.