Hail Mary.
Who, Mother, pays you this respectful homage?
It is Heaven itself, an angel, one of the greatest in the court of Heaven, who comes down and Humbles himself before you, an humble young girl, a little flower of Judea.
Oh! what joy I experienced in saying over and over again, with the Archangel Gabriel, "Hail Mary"!
So you are so great that Heaven bends down to you! Yes you are great—for you are
Full of Grace.

Of grace, of Divine life, of that life, which the first Eve lost for herself and for us all, alas! You alone escaped the universal stain; the tide of evil stood before your heart driven back by the very Hand of God.
And you are a solitary whiteness in the midst of guilty humanity! You are Immaculate, fair Lily of Juda. How beautiful you are, oh, Mother Mary. Beautiful as the star of night that reflects the light the sun.
Mirror of Justice, in which is reflected the holiness of the Father, the purity of the Word and the infinite love of the Holy Spirit.
Oh, yes, you are "full of grace." That is why
The Lord is with Thee.

Yes, to be sure . . . you are the tabernacle of the Lord, and you Can say " May Christ live in me." But did you not say when you pronounced your fiat on the day of the Annunciation, "May Jesus live in me that I may give Him to the world"?
Mother, will you help me to keep Christ within me? May He live, may He grow in my young soul that I may give, Him to others, like you, to many others who do not know Him, or do not love Him enough.

Blessed Art Thou Amongst Women.
And all generations to the end of time will call you " blessed," will praise you as the glory of humanity; the woman most pure, most splendid, most simple; the most illustrious and the most humble, the masterpiece and the pride of the Creator.
How I wish to unite my voice to the concert of praise; my feeble voice in the eternal canticle which ascends to you. Yes; you are blessed, O Mary, beyond all women.
And Blessed is the Fruit of Thy Womb.

Behold the explanation of all your greatness. You are Mother, the Mother par excellence, the Mother of God.
How can I explain your dignity, your sanctity? Must not all that approaches the Divinity be pure? Oh, you are nearer God than any one else.
How can I explain the universal devotion that is offered to you? Must not the ciborium which contains the Sacred Host be treated with special reverence? But what is a. ciborium of gold compared with the living ciborium which you are, 0 Mary, Mother of God?
Jesus Himself has honoured you, and with what filial love!
How I wish to honour you, to bless you, to be a little flower on thy altar.
But I make bold. Since you are the Mother of God, you are not only great and holy, but you are kind and loving—and I say to you:—
Holy Mary Mother of God, Pray for Us Sinners.

How the tone of my prayer changes now that I speak to you of myself and of my brethren.
I bow down my forehead, covered with the sign and the shame of sin. Poor sinners!
But you will not refuse to listen to the prayer of the poor, of the poorest of all men, of the sinner.
"Never was it known that any one who fled to thy protection was left unaided." But why should I fear? You have said " yes " to all the petitions, to all the appeals of souls in the course of all the ages.
Say " yes " to me
Now
Mother! At every moment I must support my feebleness through your power. Now, in the time of dangerous youth, of follies which I would commit every day if I listened to the world and to the "evil one" who whispers to me counsels of cowardice. Now . . .
And at the Hour of Our Death.

My death, quite near, perhaps. Can it be that you will not be there in the supreme anguish to sustain me, to console me, to receive my soul, to bring it to the judgment seat of Jesus, to plead my cause? oh, my advocate!
But you will be there, and you will pray for me (and I will be saved.
Yes, saved! With you, with Jesus /or all eternity.
Because every day of my life I will say over and over again in the fervour of my filial confidence:
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.