For that faire blessed Mother-maid, Whose flesh redeem'd us; That she-Cherubin, Which unlock'd Paradise, and made One claime for innocence, and disseiz'd sinne, Whose wombe was a strange heav'n, for there God cloath'd himselfe, and grew, Our zealous thankes wee poure. As her deeds were Our helpes, so are her prayers; nor can she sue In vaine, who hath such titles unto you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS IN MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR OF OBERMANN by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE BEACON; A MUSICAL DRAMA by JOANNA BAILLIE PARTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WYNKEN, BLYNKEN AND NOD by EUGENE FIELD ON LORD HOLLAND'S SEAT NEAR MARGATE, KENT by THOMAS GRAY THE HOUSE OF HOSPITALITIES by THOMAS HARDY |