Poems

A Mother’s Question

What mother-angel tended thee last night,
        Sweet baby mine?
Cradled upon what breast all soft and white
        Didst thou recline?

Who took thee, frail and tender as thou art,
        Within her arms?
And shielded thee, close claspéd to her heart,
        From all alarms?

Surely that God who lured thee from the breast
        That hoped to be
The softest pillow and the sweetest rest
        Thenceforth to thee,

Sent thee not forth into the dread unknown
        Without a guide,
To grope in darkness, treading all alone
        The path untried.

Compassionate is He who called thee, child;
        And well I know
He sent some Blessed One of aspect mild
        With thee to go

Through the dark valley, where the shadows dim
        Forever brood,
That the low music of an angel’s hymn
        Might cheer the solitude!