Postcard, cir. early 20th c.
O Mother dear, our age is full of thee
And the fair marvels of thy power and grace;
From many a glorious shrine and famous place
Flows the full river of thy charity,
Nor thence alone — for there are spots obscure
By angels honoured, to the world unknown,
Where thou dost love to shed thy blessings down
Upon the meek, the simple and the poor.
Such is the chapel where I knelt one morn,
Not knowing then it was a wondrous Shrine
Where countless miracles of love divine
Are wrought by thee, our Lady of the Thorn.
Amid the fields and scattered trees it stands,
Faint murmurs reach it from the hidden sea,
It boasts no beauty — humbler cannot be —
A rustic chapel built by peasant hands.
Pictures of broken ships and stormy sea
Hang on the walls; each has its tale to tell
Of perils past and saving miracle,
And loving meed of gratitude to thee.
No need of gold, or jewels to adorn
That lowly chapel; one quaint Image there
Above the altar is its treasure rare;
Hail, Full of Grace, our Lady of the Thorn.
Barefoot, bareheaded in the winter snow,
Here thy poor loyal Breton children throng,
Pilgrims of love; hence, in fresh courage strong,
Back to the dangers of the sea they go.
With falling tears a sailor’s bright-eyed wife
Told me the story how the Shrine arose;
How their dear Mother showed them that she chose
To make that quiet place with wonders rife.
Oft and again, she said, when death was nigh,
And human strength and skill were vain to save,
Had Mary calmed the fury of the wave
The moment that she heard her children’s cry.
And as I listened, every country sound
Took a new meaning; angels led the strain,
And earth’s glad voices, mingling back again,
Told Mary’s triumphs everywhere around.
The breezes rustling in the yellow corn,
The lark’s wild carol and the humming bee,
The laughing children and the sighing sea,
All sang thy praise, our Lady of the Thorn.
Frances Janette Partridge, “Notre Dame de l’Epine: St. Briac,” 1875,
in Orby Shipley, Carmina Mariana: Second Series, 1902, pgs. 337-9.