CXXV
THE HOLY MOTHER
Sadly walked the Holy Mother On the Holy Mountain. Suddenly espied she something Brightly shining in the dust: The Cross, it was, of her own Son. With gentlest hands she caressed it, She did wash it with her tears, And after dried it with her hair. Kneeling then she uttered prayer. Speaking to the Holy Cross: "O sweet Cross, thou Cross of honour, Upon thee my Son has died, Hellish pains on thee He suffered, Hellish pains from those hot nails, To redeem our sinful souls. When He did upon thee bleed, His blood it fell in priceless seed, Whence there sprang all lovely flowers, And angels, coming down to gather, Made them into wreathes and garlands That they might adorn all heaven." J. W. W.
CXXVI
DREAM OF THE HOLY VIRGIN
The Holy Virgin dreaming slept, And in her dream a great tree grew, Its branches from her own heart crept, O'er spreading earth, north, south, east, west, And piercing, spire-like, heaven's blue. Sore troubled by her dream she rose And sought straightway a saintly brother; "Hear Saint Basil, my brother hear! Let me tell my vision wondrous I dreamed and lo! a great tree grew, Its branches from my own heart crept, O'erspreading earth north, south, east, west, And towering up through heaven's blue. What saith this vision Saint, to you?" Then Basil answered to the Virgin: "O sister dear, thy vision's clear: 'A tree did spring from thy warm heart?' To bear the Christ shall be thy part. 'Those spreading branches covering all?' Sinners He'll save from evil's thrall. 'That height spire-piercing heaven's blue?' To God the Father Christ shall rise Passing from earth and fleshly view." J. W. W.
CXXVII
MOTHER AT THE TOMB OF HER SON
Alas! my son, how fareth it with thee, In thy new dwelling, new and strange and dark? Strange thy dwelling without windows! At daybreak, Vinko, thy sad mother rose, Her earliest thought as but of thee, Her first thought, Vinko; Vinko her first call! Thorns are growing at the house-door, Cuckoos mourn around the house, Downcast thy brothers wait for thee, To talk with thee, to walk with thee— But now that ne'er can be. With head bent down and brow o'ercast, They make their way—for where art thou! In ashes our hearth fire is hidden, And when I saw the sun this morning, I thought: It is the moon, When thy sisters said to me: "Dim thine eyes, it is the sun!" "For me no sun," said I to them, "Pale in the dust now is my sun, No light have I above the earth." Down in thy dwelling, oh my son, Say, is it cold, my Sun, my Sun; If it be cold as is my breast It is too cold, too cold to rest.[[37]] J. W. W.