Poema sacrum, in diem purificationis, augustissimae Dei genitricis Mariae

and fill the holy houses with brilliant splendors. O what piety of hearts! O what great love of ancestral religion leads everyone in order! And why do wax tapers fill our palms? Why do torches, flashing with brilliant light, signify? And why do altars glow with fire-breathing flames, and why do the roofs, threatening the heavens, smoke? All these things are done in your honor, greatest Virgin. All these things are owed to you for your old love of true piety. For what does your abundant Virtue, the brightness of your pure mind, and that sweet flower—your Virginity—rightfully deny you? Nothing. It deserves everything, for the flame of inviolate modesty grants the wood. Thus, too, you offer a flame, not such as is in the world, but one which heavenly grace, sent down from the highest summit of the heavens, poured into your chosen body. Therefore, not without cause do all, young and old, hasten to pour forth chaste voices to the heavens; it delights them to celebrate these sacred rites and to carry sacred lights in the temples, testifying to the beautiful work of religion, the exemplar of divine love. O excellent grace! O most illustrious Mother! You shine forth like a bright star in splendor, and with the light of the ether, you show the heights of heaven: the shining wax denotes the holiest cloister of modesty, and the honor which you always kept as a virgin. For who does not know how to produce sweet wax?

Honey.