GRAY gloomed the hillside. Through the solemn hush Of dole, the third dark hour--reluctant, shamed-- Slow yielded to its close. Below the cross The Holy Mother knelt in quivering calm Her waiting arms in anguish upward reached To take again her Son, her little boy,-- Her baby!--while, pale through the mystic dusk Her lifted face in adoration dwelt Upon her Lord. Then near at hand there broke A woman's sobbing, low and wretched and fierce, The cry of one whose hurt is worse than death; And Mary, bending sweet within her veil, Laid her high grief aside to pray, "Dear God, Ah, comfort Thou the mother of the thief!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR PRAYER OF THANKS by CARL SANDBURG EMMELINE GRANGERFORD'S 'ODE TO STEPHEN DOLWING BOTS, DEC'D' by SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS THE MARYLAND BATTALION [AUGUST 27, 1776] by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED AN APRIL MORNING by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |