Thou art all fair, my love, and there is not a spot in thee. THE GLORIES OF MARY. Arise, north wind, and come; south wind, blow through my garden, and let the aromatical spices thereof flow. TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF ST. ALPHONSUS DE LIGUORI, Founder of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer, Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array LONDON: Printed for the Redemptorist Fathers, ST. MARY's, Clapham, Surrey; to be had of J. J. WALLWORK, 42, Great MDCCCLII. Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come. ? WE hereby approve of this Translation of "THE GLORIES OF MARY," and cordially recom mend it to the Faithful. NICHOLAS CARD. WISEMAN, ARCHBISHOP OF WESTMINSTER. Given at Westminster, on the Feast of Saint Alphonsus de' Liguori, A.D. 1852. Tucker, Printer, Perry's Place, Oxford Street. TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. IN N presenting to English Catholics, a new and complete translation of the Glories of Mary,' from the Italian of Saint Alphonsus de' Liguori, it is quite unnecessary to speak of a life and of virtues, which have merited for him the highest honour bestowed by the Church of God upon her most illustrious children. His name is dear to all Catholics; and the sweet odour of his virtues has been every where disseminated by his works, in which the blessed Saint has planted them, as in a garden of delights. But in the midst of this garden, beloved reader, one bed of choicest flowers is seen, whose fragrance attracts the traveller from afar; and which, as he approaches, ravishes his soul. It is love for Mary' which composes the flower-bed of which we speak; for though in this garden flowers of every kind abound, yet 'love for Mary' is the rose whose scent has been wafted by the breeze on every side; it is 'love for Mary' which more especially adorns the Saint's eternal crown, and which has become in a manner identified with himself; so that the very mention of Alphonsus's name, recalls the love of Mary to each Christian heart. The cold North wind, and the warm and balmy breezes of the South, have alike blown through this garden of delights. The cold North wind, I say, which chills devotion in the Church of God, which would induce men to refuse to Mary that love and honour which God Himself has given her; and which, under specious pretexts of reverence, would at length drive from amongst us her sweet name. Yes, indeed, this wind has blown through the beautiful bed of roses which is now presented to you. Alphonsus's love for his mother is said to be too great, exaggerated, derogatory of the love due to Jesus Christ. Oh God! as if all could not see, could not know, that this love, this excess of love, is only an effect, |