Viii

The holy mother Went everywhere with her dear son; She listened to his every word; She watched his acts and was enthralled And joyed in still anxiety When she looked at him. For he would Sit on the Mount of Olives often And rest a while. Jerusalem Was proudly spread before his eyes-- The priest of Israel flashed proudly In all his golden robes and rich, A humble slave of Roman gold! An hour, two, would pass away. He would not stir or look at her But weep and wonder at the wealth Of the Judean capital. Then she would weep and make her way Down to the spring in a ravine And quickly would bring back with her Fresh water, and would humbly wash His sacred feet which were so weary. She’d give him drink and brush him off And shake the dust from his white tunic, She’d mend a hole, and then again Go to the fig tree and sit down And look, an ever holy mother, At her sad son, while he was resting. Perhaps the children then would run From out the city; they would follow Him always through the busy streets And sometimes to the Mount of Olives The little ones would come to him. They would run up,--“O holy ones, And sinless too”--he used to say. Then when he saw the children, he Would rise and kiss them, give his blessing. He’d play with them just like a child, Put on a wreath, and gay and happy, He’d go with all his children dear Unto Jerusalem to preach, Tell to the wicked words of truth. They would not hear and crucified him. When they led him to Golgotha, Thou stoodst at a crossroad nearby With the same children (for the men, His brothers and disciples too) Had lost their courage and had fled. “O let him go, O let him go! He’ll lead you to the self same fate.” She said this to the children, then She fell upon the earth and fainted.

Thine only child was crucified And Thou, beneath the hedge abiding, Went back again to Nazareth. The widow long before was buried By strangers in a hired casket. She’d been alone for her dear John In prison had been murdered too. Thy Joseph was no longer there And Thou wast left alone to live Just as a broken stick. Yes, that Was Thy sad fate, O mother dear! His brothers and disciples too, Unsteady men of little soul, Concealed themselves from hangmen cruel. They hid and then they separated, And Thou wast forced to seek them out.... By night they gathered round about Thee And came to grieve with thee and mourn, But Thou, the greatest among women, Didst scatter all their fear and terror, Just as the chaff that blows away, With Thy most holy word of fire; Thou sentst at last Thy holy spirit Into their petty souls! All praise, All praise to Thee, O holy Mary! The holy men regained their poise, They travelled through the whole wide world And in the name of Thy great Son, Thy suffering and martyred Child, They spread the news of love and truth Throughout the world; Thou weptst and grievedst And ’neath a hedge among tall grass, Thou starvedst to death. Amen! Amen!