Thy graces none but thee can wear;
In trailing robes of snowy white,
Thou art on earth a gleam of light;
Thy cheeks are comely as the rose,
Thy neck as white as winter snows;
Thy lips are like a scarlet thread,
Thy locks like silver on thy head.
To him who with thee is in love,
Thou'rt meek and gentle as the dove;
Virgin, so pure and bold and free,
No spot is found at all in thee.
Such was thy purity of yore
And such 'twill be forevermore.