The Handmaid of the Lord

Lowliest of women, and most glorified:
In thy still beauty, sitting calm and lone:
A brightness round thee grew; and by thy side,
Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone,
Solemn, yet breathing gladness.
From her throne a queen had risen with more imperial eye;
A stately prophetess of victory
From her proud lyre had struck a tempest's tone.
For such high tidings as to thee were brought,
Chosen of Heaven, that hour: but thou, O thou,
E'en as a flower with gracious rains o'er fraught,
Thy Virgin head beneath its crown didst bow,
And take to thy meek breast the All-holy Word,
And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord.