Ave, Regina Caelorum,
Ave, Domina Angelorum:
Salve, radix, salve, porta
Ex qua mundo lux est orta:

Gaude, Virgo gloriosa,
Super omnes speciosa,
Vale, o valde decora,
Et pro nobis Christum exora.

Hail, O Queen of Heaven.
Hail, O Lady of Angels,
Hail! thou root, hail! thou gate
From whom unto the world, a light has arisen:

Rejoice, O glorious Virgin,
Lovely beyond all others,
Farewell, most beautiful maiden,
And pray for us to Christ.

My Soul there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skilfull in the wars,
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles,
And one born in a Manger,
Commands the Beauteous files,
He is thy gracious friend,
And (O! my soul awake!)
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake,
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of peace,
The Rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease;
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But one, who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

from Silex Scintillans, 1650

The Eclipse
Whither, O whither did’st thou fly 
When I did grieve thine holy Eye?
When thou did’st mourn to see me lost, 
And all thy Care and Councels crost.
O do not grieve where e’er thou art!
Thy grief is an undoing smart. 
Which doth not only pain, but break
My heart, and makes me blush to speak. 
Thy anger I could kiss, and will:
But (O!) thy grief, thy grief doth kill.

The Revival
Unfold, unfold! take in his light,
Who makes thy Cares more short than night.
The joys, which with his Day-star rise,
He deals to all, but drowsy Eyes:
And what the men of this world miss,
Some drops and dews of future bliss.
Hark! how his winds have chang’d their note,
And with warm whispers call thee out.
The frosts are past, the storms are gone:
And backward life at last comes on.
The lofty groves in express Joyes
Reply unto the Turtles voice,
And here in dust and dirt, O here
The Lilies of his love appear!

Peace
My Soul, there is a Country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a wingèd sentry
All skilfull in the wars,
There above noise, and danger
Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles,
And one born in a Manger
Commands the Beauteous files,
He is thy gracious friend,
And (O my soul awake!)
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake,
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of peace,
The Rose that cannot whither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease;
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But one, who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy Cure.

Whither, O whither did’st thou fly
When I did grieve thine holy Eye?
When thou did’st mourn to see me lost,
And all thy Care and Councels crost.
O do not grieve where e’er thou art!
Thy grief is an undoing smart.
Which doth not only pain, but break
My heart, and makes me blush to speak.
Thy anger I could kiss, and will:
But (O!) thy grief, thy grief doth kill.                                                                                                  
Henry Vaughan (1622-1695)
From Thalia Rediviva, 1678

God made my mother on an April day,
From sorrow and the mist along the sea,
Lost birds' and wanderers' song and ocean spray,
And the moon loved her wandering jealously.

Beside the ocean's din she combed her hair,
Singing the nocturne of the passing ships,
Before her earthly lover found her there
And kissed away the music from her lips.

She came unto the hills and saw the change
That brings the swallow and the geese in turns.
But there was not a grief that she deemed strange,
For there is that in her which always mourns.

Kind heart she has for all on hill or wave
Whose hopes grew wings like ants to fly away.
I bless the God Who such a mother gave
This poor bird-hearted singer of a day.

Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust; Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be; Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light, That doth both shine and give us sight to see.
O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide
In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how evil becometh him to slide,
Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.
Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see;
Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me. 
Sir Philip Sidney from Certaine Sonnets, 1582

Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore,
Never tyred pilgrim’s limbs affected slumber more,
Than my wearied spright now longs to flye, out of my troubled breast:
O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest.  
E’er-blooming are the joys of Heaven’s high Paradice,
Cold age deafes not there our ears, nor vapour dims our eyes:
Glory there the sun outshines, whose beams the blessed only see:
O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my spright to thee.              
Thomas Campion

Hide thy face from my sins,
and blot out all mine iniquities.
Create in me a clean heart, O God;
and renew a right spirit within me.

Performed by: The Canadian Chamber Choir, Dr. Julia Davids, conductor, from Sacred Reflections of Canada: A Canadian Mass (2015)

'Twas in the moon of wintertime when all the birds had fled,
That mighty Gitchi Manitou sent angel choirs instead;
Before their light the braves drew nigh,
The angel song rang loud and high:

Jesus, your King is born,
Jesus is born,
In excelsis gloria.

Within a lodge of broken bark the tender babe was found.
A ragged robe of rabbit skin enwrapped his beauty round;
But as the hunter braves drew nigh,
The angel song rang loud and high:

O children of the forest free, On sons of Manitou,
The holy child is born this day for you.
Come, kneel before the radiant boy,
Who brings you beauty, peace, and joy: