THE MOTHER'S TRAGEDY
Past her pale beauty through some glowing skies
Not unfamiliar, through exulting gates—
“ Lift up your heads,” I hear the angels cry ;
“ Be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors.
A child-heart seeks the Lover of the Child!”
O meek and holy Jesus, hath Thy heart
Yearned unto me, Thy maiden? For I knew
A bliss so pregnant with the unforeseen
As brought me to the very feet of Christ,
Weeping. How clouded that mysterious
Passion! JI fell a-weeping in my bed,
Forgetting, or not knowing. For a fire
Too perfect for my sinful soul to touch
Gathered me closely in itself, to hide
Its utter glory from me. Now I feel
Swift troubled tremblings in myself: I seek
Again those visionary skies. Alas!
That angel chorus swells another note
I cannot understand.
CORA.
I am so moved,
I cannot find it in my heart to say
The words I purposed. Let my folly pass
As an old worldly woman’s talk.
MADELINE.
O no!
You bear the sainted fragrance of your love
Higher than even my dreams. In earthly life
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