The Hail, Holy Queen — or Salve Regina — is one of the two concluding prayers of the Rosary. Both centre on Mary, the Mother of God, as the one who intercedes for us, prays with us, and leads us to her Son. In these prayers we ask to be “made worthy of the promises of Christ” — the very promises contained within the Mysteries we have just meditated upon.

The Salve Regina is traditionally attributed to Hermann of Reichenau, an 11th-century Benedictine monk. Like the Hail Mary, it has become both a liturgical centrepiece and a prayer deeply embedded in the Church’s devotion, carried in song from the simplicity of Gregorian chant to the splendour of orchestral settings. While Our Lady is the focus, the prayer ultimately reflects our condition as exiles from Eden and highlights her role as the New Eve — the one who, through her obedience, offers the antidote to sin.


The prayer names us as “poor banished children of Eve.” We come to Mary conscious of our inheritance: through pride and sin, we are separated from the Trinity. Life itself is marked as exile — “mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.”

This is crucial: it acknowledges that we are not made for this state. We are seeking something greater. The Salve Regina gives language to that universal ache: “to thee do we send up our sighs.”

Every human being feels this need. The darkness within us often drives us toward coping mechanisms — depression, isolation, addiction — all ways of filling the void of exile. This is not only the legacy of Eve’s sin but also our own daily choices to continue in sin. We remain “children of Eve,” but our exile is not only inherited; it is chosen.


And so we turn to Mary, our advocate. We beg her to turn her “eyes of mercy towards us.” Notice what we ask: not for instant rescue, but for mercy. Mercy recognises both our weakness and our freedom: that our pain is not simply imposed upon us, but shaped by our own choices. We ask her to lead us, to guide us, to bring us to Christ — both now in faith, and ultimately when our exile ends.

The prayer closes with a cascade of affection: “O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary.” In these words we both honour Mary and appeal to her prayers. We ask again to be made worthy of the promises of Christ — acknowledging that in ourselves we are not, yet trusting that Christ’s promises are offered freely nonetheless.


By the end of the Rosary, it is tempting to rush through the closing prayers. Don’t. Take your time. These prayers gather together all we have meditated on — the mysteries of Christ’s Passion and Resurrection, our own frailty and sin, our need to be held and led into the arms of the Lord.

The Salve Regina reminds us of who we are: exiles longing for home, children of Eve who look to the New Eve, praying for her mercy as we journey toward Christ.

Pause. Pray. Pass it on.

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