The chilling winds of March do blow,
as on this day we mourn.
And from our eyes fresh tears do flow,
…our child will not be born.
With God’s consent did she ascend,
to his Empyrean throne,
a refuge surely to transcend,
this grief we feel at home.
So as the ‘Ventose’ winds abate
and springtime flowers bloom,
we know her soul is incarnate
in Heaven’s immortal womb.