Our Lady of May And Other Poems By Emily Hickey |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| I. |
| II. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
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| II. |
| XVI. | XVI—Woman, Behold thy Son |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
 | Our Lady of May And Other Poems |  |
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XVI—Woman, Behold thy Son
Lo, thy son! Thou sayest it, Thou, her Son!
Art Thou no more her Son, henceforth no more?
All love's tender ministry past and o'er?
Why dost Thou say of another, O Blessed One,
Woman, behold thy son?
Art Thou no more her Son, henceforth no more?
All love's tender ministry past and o'er?
Why dost Thou say of another, O Blessed One,
Woman, behold thy son?
Does not the motherhood ache till the good be won,
Tendance and comfort and help for the child of her womb?
Lord, is it gone for ever; the season come
For all the sweetness of this to be over and done,
Thou saying, Behold thy son?
Tendance and comfort and help for the child of her womb?
Lord, is it gone for ever; the season come
For all the sweetness of this to be over and done,
Thou saying, Behold thy son?
O Beloved, O Splendour of Light that shone,
Splendour of splendours, and Light of all lights to see;
Now Thou speakest the words from Thy lifting Tree,
Saying ere yet Thou art veiled by the darkness dun,
Woman, behold thy son!
Splendour of splendours, and Light of all lights to see;
Now Thou speakest the words from Thy lifting Tree,
Saying ere yet Thou art veiled by the darkness dun,
Woman, behold thy son!
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Nay; in Thy child she has Thee, O Loving One,
Thou in Thy blood-bought Church art manifest;
Thee in Thy child she will clasp to her mother-breast:
Here in her pangs and woe new glory is won,
As she knoweth her son.
Thou in Thy blood-bought Church art manifest;
Thee in Thy child she will clasp to her mother-breast:
Here in her pangs and woe new glory is won,
As she knoweth her son.
Thee she takes and loves in Thy darling, John;
Thou who neededst her once for Thine own dear need
Needest her now in the due of Thy travail, and meed,
Even Thy ransomed Church, to Thy bosom won,
O Firstborn, Eternal Son.
Thou who neededst her once for Thine own dear need
Needest her now in the due of Thy travail, and meed,
Even Thy ransomed Church, to Thy bosom won,
O Firstborn, Eternal Son.
Jesus, now hast Thou given to every one,
Even Thy least as Thy greatest, this Mother of Thine:
Lord, we bless Thy name for the gift divine;
Motherhood never to end, with Thy word begun,
Woman, behold thy son.
Even Thy least as Thy greatest, this Mother of Thine:
Lord, we bless Thy name for the gift divine;
Motherhood never to end, with Thy word begun,
Woman, behold thy son.
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