X.
Mother and Child
"_The Christ Child lay in Mary's lap, His hair was like a crown.... And all the flowers looked up to Him, And all the stars looked down._" --G. K. CHESTERTON.
Mother and Child
Mother and Child! Symbol eternal, and Fact, Prediction sublime! Read the sweet story of Love, upheld in the arms of Time! Mother and Child!
Read the great story of Earth, struggling up through her Sorrow and Pain, Till, chosen the Bride of God, she bring forth, washed clean of all stain, Truth undefiled.
Far back in the youth of the world, out of water and mist and slime, I see thee, Earth-Mother, arise, both Mother and Daughter of Time-- Stern, sacrificially cruel, with passionate spirit aflame, Cybele, Ishtar, Isis, adored under many a name, Striving through waste and through weakness, onward and upward ever, Slain for Love's sake and slaying, yet failing in sacrifice never, Bearing with anguish of heart, big with the life of the morrow, Lifting our soul from the soil, thy Body transfixed with our sorrow-- Till, lo, the fair fruitage of life, upheld in thine arms for a Throne, Opens eyes to the kiss of God, His Child, yet thy very own.
Far back ere the brooding wing of the Spirit o'er Chaos stirred, God thought of Creation to be, and His Thought took flesh as the Word-- Child of eternal Love, awaiting the fulness of days, Downward descending in dreams, seeking our earthward ways, Struggling for birth through the ages, piercing through many a cloud, Worshipped at many an altar, wherever faces were bowed, Or hands uplifted to Heaven in passionate yearning to see In thy Face the transfiguring vision of life-giving Deity. Till, lo, the idea of God, His Child, thou art brought to birth, Making glad all thy brethren to be, and thy Mother the travailing earth.
O Mother dear, to whom came Gabriel With message like a sword, Who bowed thyself in meekness at the well-- The Handmaid of the Lord! Mother of Men, triumphant o'er the brute, Hailed highly favored from the Holy Place, The splendor of Earth's meaning in thy Face, Her ultimate Flower and Fruit!
O Babe Divine, for whom the angels sang O'er Bethlehem's fields of old, When through the darkness heavenly carols rang And heavenly tidings told! O Child of Heaven, to whom all hearts aspire, In incense clouds of prayer that upward burn, In wakening throbs of Life that constant yearn-- Rich Spring-tide of desire!
Beyond the temporal tides whose course has run In realms where space has burst her ancient bars, I see the Woman clothed with the Sun, And circled with the stars.
With feet upon the changeful Moon, she stands, And on her face a look divinely mild, She holds secure with tender, human hands The Everlasting Child.
O ancient Mother, ever Virgin, young With youth renewed through all the ages, Sign Of Hope, the age-long prayer of every tongue, And Victory divine!
Hold Thou that Hope that bursts upon our night-- Babe by thee suckled, sustenant of thee, Beacon enkindled from the Eternal Light, For all the world to see!
Sing all ye angel conclave of the skies, Who at Creation's birth did shout for joy, And hailed the task begun! Now let your songs of triumph higher rise, And all your heavenliest melodies employ, To praise Creation done!
And sing, ye creatures from the lowest deep, Whose groans have risen: 'O Lord, O Lord, how long?' Expectant of the dawn! High festival with men and angels keep, Upraise from Earth to Heaven the endless song, And hail the Babe new-born!