Here is the place where Holy Mary comes Down from her home above the azure heavens To show herself to Juan, who, comfortless, Petitioned for relief from troubles sore. Sometimes it chances that a fragrant plant In the dense forest blooms unseen, unknown, Though bright its virginal buds and rare its flowers; So doth the modest daughter of the Lord Obscure the moon, the planets, and the stars Which all adorn her forehead and her feet, When lends she the poor Indian her grace In bounty wonderful to all his kind. She tenders him the waters and the dew, Prosperity of fruits and animals, A heart of sensible humility, And help unfailing in his future need. The Angel of America resumes Her radiant flight. With grateful ear he heard, Twice did he wondering kneel, and twice again He kissed the white feet of the holy maid. But did not end God's providence benign: The Almighty wished to leave to Mexicans His Mother's likeness by his own great hand, In token of the love he had for us. He took the pencil, saying: "We will make In heaven's own image, as we moulded man. But what was Adam to my beauteous one?" So saying, drew he with serenest face The gentle likeness of the Mother-maid. He saw the image, and pronounced it good. Since then, with the encircling love of heaven, A son she sees in every Mexican. Mildly the wandering incense she receives, Attending to his vow with human face; For her the teeming vapors yield their rain To the green valley and the mountain side, Where bend and wave the abundant harvest fields, And the green herbs that feed the lazy kine. She makes the purifying breezes pass, And on the restless and unsounded seas She stills the rigor of the hurricane. The frighted people see the approach of death When the broad earth upon its axis shakes, But the wild elements are put to sleep With but a smile from her mild countenance. And she has moved the adamantine heart Of avarice, who saw decrepit age Creep like an insect on the dusty earth, To ope his close-shut hand, and bless the poor. She maketh humbly kneel and kiss the ground No less the wise than simple. She the great, Dazzled by their own glory, doth advise That soon their gaudy pageant shall be o'er, And heaven's oblivion shall dissolve their fame.