OUR LADIES OF SORROW.
BY MRS. E. A. MATTHEWS.
Three sisters guard the lives of mortal men
With care unvarying, from youth to age.
Ever around us, though beyond our ken,
Do they in silent ministry engage.
Mysterious Trio—hand in hand, they go
Through the sad realm of human pain and woe!
Mother of Tears, of bitterness, and grief,
Thou art, to-day, in many a silent room—
Before thy steps, death stealeth, like a thief,
And turns life’s sunshine into blackest gloom.
When hearts are rent with unavailing prayer
For life’s lost treasures, Mother, thou art there!
Dark-browed and dreadful, Tenebrarum, thou!
Bringer of unbelief, doubt, and despair,
Mother of suicide, revenge, and gloom—
With frenzied look, and maniac’s awful glare—
When man is hated, and when God denied,
Thou standest, mocking, at the wretch’s side!
But thou, O Goddess, mild Mother of Sighs,
Sweet source of pity, patient sorrow’s balm,
At thy mild bidding all our anguish dies,
And grief’s wild billows soften into calm.
When human hearts bring sympathy and share
The woes of others, Mother, thou art there!
When the sad penitent laments in vain
O’er wasted moments—thou dost hope restore—
To the pale captive, and the child of pain,
Thou bringest liberty and health once more!
All generous deeds and tender charities
Are in thy hands—O, blessed Mother of Sighs!