Never was a day so bright, Never maid so gentle; Brighter than the brightest light Shone the Lord's archangel. Lady, you tremble at the news! Tell us you will not refuse To carry Our little Lord of Love And Glory. Soon a sword shall pierce your heart, Sadden your tomorrows; All too soon you too must start Up the Hill of Sorrows. Lady, they will respect your grief, When in darkness past belief You tarry, Bearing the cross that love Must carry. There's a crown upon your brow You alone are wearing, Mother of all mothers now: In his triumph sharing. Lady, you were his home on earth: Now your Son must come to birth Within us, By nothing else than love To win us.