Devotional Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sweet my Mother, thou hast called, and I have heard
That which thrilled my soul and stirred;
Yea, mine own beloved, thou hast bid me come
To thy heart, which is my home:
And I lie in happy shelter on thy breast,
As a young bird in its nest.

Dear, I thought another's voice the voice of thee,
That was speaking unto me.
Had I heard thy voice, oh, should I not have known
From all other tone its tone?
Had I ever seen the truth within thine eyes,
I had bid my soul arise;
I had hastened, dare I hope and think, to flee,
Glorious Mother, unto thee!
Thou, my liberal-souled and tender, leav'st unchid
Those who knew not what they did.

Steeped in radiance of thy love, I do not shrink,
O my Mother! as I think
That those kindest, tenderest hands can wield the sword
Of the judgement of the Lord;

Shoot the arrows of His wrath from out His bow,—
Yea, beloved, it is so!
For thy love is as thy Lord's; and thine intent,
In thy sternest punishment,
Is the saving of the souls of His desire,
Holy Mother, as by fire.
Ever one with Him in will, His heart, His bride,
Thou defied art He defied;
Thou beloved art He beloved; and in thy face
Is the fulness of His grace.