O Rex géntium, et desiderátus eárum, lapísque anguláris, qui facis útraque unum: veni, et salva hóminem, quem de limo formásti.
O King of Nations, thou art approaching still nigher to Bethlehem, where thou art to be born. The journey is almost over, and thy august Mother, consoled and strengthened by the dear weight she bears, holds an unceasing converse with thee on the way. She adores thy divine Majesty; she gives thanks to thy mercy; she rejoices that she has been chosen for the sublime ministry of being Mother to God. She longs for that happy moment when her eyes shall look upon thee, and yet she fears it. For, how will she be able to render thee those services which are due to thy infinite greatness, she that thinks herself the last of creatures? How will she dare to raise thee up in her arms, and press thee to her heart, and feed thee at her breasts? When she reflects that the hour is now near at hand, in which, being born of her, thou wilt require all her care and tenderness, her heart sinks within her; for, what human heart could bear the intense vehemence of these two affections, the love of such Mother for her Babe, and the love of such a Creature for her God? But thou supportest her, thou the Desired of Nations, for thou, too, longest for that happy Birth, which is to give the earth its Saviour, and to men that Corner-Stone, which will unite them all into one family. Dearest King! be thou blessed for all these wonders of thy power and goodness! Come speedily, we beseech thee, come and save us, for we are dear to thee, as creatures that have been formed by thy divine hands. Yea, Come, for thy creation has grown degenerate; it is lost; death has taken possession of it; take it thou again into thy almighty hands and give it a new creation; save it; for thou hast not ceased to take pleasure in and love thine own work.