2.
“Their soul was poured out into their mother's bosom.”
That cloud is soon to fall in tears, when night
Drops on that Mother of all mothers—left
To solitude and stillness, and bereft
Of hope beyond all hope, and guiding light.
The sword is in her soul, and out of sight
Her wounds drop tears of blood, yet every pang
Is known to Him Whose death-pale looks now hang,
In pity and compassions infinite,
Upon His Mother. Mother! blessed name
Of mother nearest to the human heart!
Affection first to come, last to depart!
And He, Who all things hallows to new love,
Shall to His children grant His Church to claim
As Mother, and a filial love to prove.
