THIS master-stroke that deals with the divine Is richly human: thoughts of pomp and praise Merge into tender pity; the benign Face of the woman only speaks of days When, as a little lad, the Christ would cling Unto her garment's hem, and she would bend To help him, or would haply bide to sing Some homespun croon that might his sorrow mend. Man-grown, she saw Him crucified, and now, His broken body from the fearful tree Cherishing in her arms, with eye and brow That broods the past, she scarcely seems to see The future with its glory; you but feel That she is blest all other dames above, Because her own small son at last may steal Back to the mother-lap, the mother-love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FROM THE GREATER TESTAMENT (XXII, XXIII, AND XXVI) by FRANCOIS VILLON EPITAPH INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALEXANDER POPE NORTHBOUN' by LUCY ARIEL WILLIAMS TITA'S TEARS; A FANTASY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |