The holy mother
Went everywhere with her dear son;
She listened to his every word;
She watched his acts and was enthralled
And joyed in still anxiety
When she looked at him.
For he would
Sit on the Mount of Olives often
And rest a while. Jerusalem
Was proudly spread before his eyes--
The priest of Israel flashed proudly
In all his golden robes and rich,
A humble slave of Roman gold!
An hour, two, would pass away.
He would not stir or look at her
But weep and wonder at the wealth
Of the Judean capital.
Then she would weep and make her way
Down to the spring in a ravine
And quickly would bring back with her
Fresh water, and would humbly wash
His sacred feet which were so weary.
She’d give him drink and brush him off
And shake the dust from his white tunic,
She’d mend a hole, and then again
Go to the fig tree and sit down
And look, an ever holy mother,
At her sad son, while he was resting.
Perhaps the children then would run
From out the city; they would follow
Him always through the busy streets
And sometimes to the Mount of Olives
The little ones would come to him.
They would run up,--“O holy ones,
And sinless too”--he used to say.
Then when he saw the children, he
Would rise and kiss them, give his blessing.
He’d play with them just like a child,
Put on a wreath, and gay and happy,
He’d go with all his children dear
Unto Jerusalem to preach,
Tell to the wicked words of truth.
They would not hear and crucified him.
When they led him to Golgotha,
Thou stoodst at a crossroad nearby
With the same children (for the men,
His brothers and disciples too)
Had lost their courage and had fled.
“O let him go, O let him go!
He’ll lead you to the self same fate.”
She said this to the children, then
She fell upon the earth and fainted.
Thine only child was crucified
And Thou, beneath the hedge abiding,
Went back again to Nazareth.
The widow long before was buried
By strangers in a hired casket.
She’d been alone for her dear John
In prison had been murdered too.
Thy Joseph was no longer there
And Thou wast left alone to live
Just as a broken stick.
Yes, that
Was Thy sad fate, O mother dear!
His brothers and disciples too,
Unsteady men of little soul,
Concealed themselves from hangmen cruel.
They hid and then they separated,
And Thou wast forced to seek them out....
By night they gathered round about Thee
And came to grieve with thee and mourn,
But Thou, the greatest among women,
Didst scatter all their fear and terror,
Just as the chaff that blows away,
With Thy most holy word of fire;
Thou sentst at last Thy holy spirit
Into their petty souls!
All praise,
All praise to Thee, O holy Mary!
The holy men regained their poise,
They travelled through the whole wide world
And in the name of Thy great Son,
Thy suffering and martyred Child,
They spread the news of love and truth
Throughout the world; Thou weptst and grievedst
And ’neath a hedge among tall grass,
Thou starvedst to death.
Amen! Amen!