LXXV.
THE SEVENTH DOLOUR.
(Before the Tomb.)
Before the Tomb the Mother sate
Amid the new-delved garden ground:
Her eyes upon its stony gate
Were fixed, while darkness closed around.
A wind above the olives crept:
It seemed the world's collected sigh:
That Mother's eyes their vigil kept:
She felt but this; her Lord was nigh.
Behind her leaning each on each
The Holy Women waited near:
Nor any spake of comfort: speech
Was slain by sorrow and by fear.
From realm to realm of night He passed,
That Soul which smote the dark to-day:
That Mother's eyes were settled fast
Upon the Tomb where Jesus lay.
