Wednesday in the fourth week of Advent: Angelus ad virginem

Today’s Gospel text for the evening office is the Annunciation. Here’s an old-school poem and a great recording below the fold.


Angelus ad virginem
Subintrans in conclave.
Virginis formidinum
Demulcens inquit “Ave.”
Ave regina virginum,
Coeliteraeque dominum
Et paries
Salutem hominum.
Tu porta coeli facta
Medella criminum.

Quomodo conciperem,
quae virum non cognovi?
Qualiter infringerem,
quae firma mente vovi?
‘Spiritus sancti gratia
Perficiet haec omnia;
Ne timaes,
sed gaudeas,
quod castimonia
Manebit in te pura
Dei potentia.’

Ad haec virgo nobilis
Respondens inquit ei;
Ancilla sum humilis
Omnipotentis Dei.
Tibi coelesti nuntio,
Tanta secreti conscio,
Et cupiens
factum quod audio,
Parata sum parere
Dei consilio.

Angelus disparuit
Etstatim puellaris
Uterus intumuit
Vi partus salutaris.
Qui, circumdatus utero
Novem mensium numero,
Hinc Exiit
Et iniit
Affigens humero
Crucem, qua dedit ictum
Hosti mortifero.

Eia Mater Domini,
Quae pacem reddidisti
Angelis et homini,
Cum Christum genuisti;
Tuem exora filium
Ut se nobis propitium
Et deleat
Praestans auxilium
Vita frui beta
Post hoc exsilium.

Middle English

Gabriel, from Heaven-King
Sent to the Maide sweete,
Brout hir blisful tidings
And fiar he gan he greete:
‘Heil be thu, gull of grace aright!
For Godes Son, this Heven-Light
For mannes love
Will man bicome
And take Fles of thee,
Maide Bright,
Manken free for to make
Of sen and devles might.

Mildelich him gan andswere
The milde Maid thanne:
‘Wichewise sold ich bere
A child withute manne?’
Th’angel hir seid: ‘Ne dred tee nout;
Thurw th’Oligast sal bewen iwrout
This ilche thing
Warof tiding
Ich bringe;
Al manken wurth ibout
Thurw thing sweet childinge
And Ut of pine ibrout.’

Wan the Maiden understood
And th’angels wordes herde,
Mildelich, with milde mood,
To th’angel hie andswerde:”‘
‘Ure Lords thewe maid iwis
Ich am, that heer aboven is;
Anentis me
Fulfurthed be
Thi sawe
That ich, sith his wil is,
A maid, withute lawe,
Of moder have the blis.’

Th’angel went awei mid than
Al ut of hire sighte;
Hire womb arise gan
Thurw th’Oligastes mighte.
In hir wes Crist bilok anon,
Sooth God, sooth man in fles and bon,
And of hir fles
Ibore wes
At time,
Warthurw us kam good won;
He bout us ut of pine,
And let him for us slon.

Maiden-Moder makeles,
Of milce ful ibunde,
Bid for us him that tee ches,
At wam thu grace funde,
That he forgive us sen and wrake,
And clene of evri gelt us make,
And heven-blis,
Wan ur time is
To sterve,
Us give, for thine sake,
Him so here for to sere
That heus to him take.

You can find a big list of versions of this poem here. For your listening pleasure, I give you the King’s Singers. Same idea, different poem, sung by King’s College.

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