Lady laud your son.
Cast down your golden crown and worship
him,
born a babe in stable laid,
who walked the hills of Galilee
with fisher folk and tax collectors
made of them a warrior band,
shocked the scribe and Pharisee
not less than priest and Sadducee.
No simple man, nor plain was he.
He has the power to call forth you and
me.
Lady laud your son
whose death pierced your own soul
with grief too sharp to bear
fulfilling prophet's words in temple
court
so long ago. Proud mother of a little babe
with head bowed down,
you contemplate the way
he cast down the mighty from their
thrones.
Lady laud your son.
You have given once again
as you have given many times before.
Resurrection joy, ascension parting
mingled in your breast.
The old ways of holding him can never be
again.
Lady laud your son.
Cast down your golden crown and worship
him
in the circle of the saints, his
sisters, brothers,
all your children now, all crowned like
you
God-bearer, now for ever blessed
held in warm embrace by glad hearts
everywhere.
Lady laud your son.
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