The wine of thought has vanished on its lees;
Our vessels are depleted to the dregs;
From lifeless clay no spirit may be squeezed,
And all the world is strewn with empty kegs.
Who shall refresh the soul’s immortal drink,
By which God’s covenant with man was fixed?
The dusk descends, and we have ceased to think
Of Him who shared this banquet in our midst.
Powerful Virgin, Mother of the Priest,
Whose ministry was subject to thy will,
Command thy Son, at heaven’s wedding feast,
With life divine our cold, stone jars to fill.
For, He who gave the vintage to the cask,
Thyself obeyed, whom we blush not to ask.
