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    by Edgar Allan Poe
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    At morn--at noon--at twilight dim--
    Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
    In joy and wo--in good and ill--
    Mother of God, be with me still!
    When the Hours flew brightly by,
    And not a cloud obscured the sky,
    My soul, lest it should truant be,
    Thy grace did guide to thine and thee
    Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
    Darkly my Present and my Past,
    Let my future radiant shine
    With sweet hopes of thee and thine!

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