MOTHERHOOD

MARY, the Christ long slain, passed silently,
Following the children joyously astir
Under the cedrus and the olive tree,
Pausing to let their laughter float to her-
Each voice an echo of a voice more dear,
She saw a little Christ in every face.

Then came another woman gliding near
To watch the tender life which filled the place.
And Mary sought the woman's hand, and spoke:
"I know thee not, ye tknow thy memory tossed
With all a thousand dreams their eyes evoke
Who bring to thee a child beloved and lost.

"I, too, have rocked my Little One.
And He was fair!
Oh, fairer than the fairest sun,
And, like its rays through amber spun,
His sun-bright hair.
Still I can see it shine and shine."
"Even so," the woman said, "was mine."

"His ways were ever darling ways"-
And Mary smiles-
"So soft, so clinging! Glad relays
Of love were all His precious days.
My Little Child!
My vanished star! My music fled!"
"Even so was mine," the woman said.

And Mary whispered: "Tell me, thou,
Of thine." And she:
"Oh, mine was rosy as a bough
Blooming with roses, sent, somehow,
To bloom for me!
His balmy fingers left a thrill
Deep in my breast that warms me still."

Then she gazed down some wilder, darker hour,
And said-when Mary questioned, knowing not:
"Who art thou, mother of so sweet a flower?"-
"I am the mother of Iscariot."

--Agnes Lee

HOME IS WHERE THERE IS ONE TO LOVE US

HOME'S not merely four square walls,
Though with pictures hung and gilded;
Home is where Affection calls-
Filled the shrines the Hearth had builded!
Home! Go watch the faithful dove,
Sailing 'neath the heaven above us.
Home is where there's one to love!
Home is where there's one to love us.

Home's not merely roof and room,
It needs something to endear it;
Home is where the heart can bloom,
Where there's some kind lip to cheer it!
What is home with none to meet,
None to welcome, none to greet us?
Home is sweet, and only sweet,
Where there's one we love to meet us!

--Charles Swain

CALL ME NOT BACK FROM THE ECHOLESS SHORE
    (In reply to Rock Me to Sleep.)

WHY IS YOUR FOREHEAD deep-furrowed with care?
What has so soon mingled frost in your hair?
Why are you sorrowful? Why do you weep?
And why do you ask me to "rock you to sleep"?
Could you but see through this world's vale of tears,
Light would your sorrows be, harmless your fears;
All that seems darkness to you would be light,
All would be sunshine, where now is but night.

Follow me, cheerfully, pray do not weep;
In spirit I'll soothe you, and "rock you to sleep,"
Why would you backward with time again turn?
Why do you still for your childhood's day yearn?
Weary one, why through the past again roam,
While, in the future, the path leads you home?
Oh, dearest child! dry those tears, weep no more,
Call me not back from the echoless shore;
In spirit I'll soothe you and "rock you to sleep."

--Unknown