In Mother-Time
When woman looks at woman with the glory in her eyes,
When eternity lies open like a scroll,
When immortal life is being felt,—the life that never dies,—
And the triumph of it ringeth
And the sweetness of it singeth
In the soul,
Then we come to California, the Garden of the Lord,
Through all its leagues of endless blossoming;
And we sing, we sing together, to the whole world’s deep accord—
And we feel each other praying
Over what the flowers are saying
As we sing.
We were waiting, we were growing, glad of heart and strong of soul,
Like the peace and power of all these virgin lands;
Through the years of holy maidenhood with motherhood for goal—
And soon we shall be holding
Fruit of all life’s glad unfolding
In our hands.
White-robed mothers, flower-crowned mothers, in the splendor of their youth,
In the grandeur of maturity and power;
Feeling life has passed the telling in its joyousness and truth,
Feeling life will soon be giving
Them the golden key of living
In one hour.
We come to California for the sunshine and the flowers;
Our motherhood has brought us here as one;
For the fruit of all the ages should share the shining hours,
With the blossoms ever-springing
And the golden globes low swinging,
In the sun.