Whose desolation eloquent below
God’s Mother sat in soundless deeps of woe,
Her sad knees holding all her earthly good.
Here stood the stranger with a look intent
Wherein no light of recognition woke,
As if he read in some strange-lettered book.
Then, asking what these unguessed figures meant,
An answer came: “Our Lord, dead 'neath the Cross.”
“Ah! yes, and that is Mary, I suppose—
The Mother.” Ah! what wondering thoughts uprose