Shall we not love thee, Mother dear, Whom Jesus loves so well? And to his glory year by year Thy joy and honour tell? Bound with the curse of sin and shame We helpless sinners lay, Until in tender love he came To bear the curse away. And thee he chose from whom to take True flesh his flesh to be; In it to suffer for our sake, By it to make us free. Thy Babe he lay upon thy breast, To thee he cried for food; Thy gentle nursing sooth'd to rest The incarnate Son of God. O wondrous depth of grace divine That he should bend so low! And, Mary, O what joy 'twas thine In his dear love to know! Joy to be Mother of the Lord, And thine the truer bliss, In every thought and deed and word To be for ever his. And as he loves thee, Mother dear, We too will love thee well; And to his glory year by year Thy joy and honour tell. Jesu, the Virgin's holy Son, We praise thee and adore, Who art with God the Father One And Spirit evermore.