Classic Poem

“O lonely mother, reft of thy sweet child,
What means that song of lofty eucharist
Within thy desolate home? Surely thy arms
Crave the loved burden they have borne so long:
No little feet are pattering by thy side:
The crib is empty by thy couch at night.
Hast thou not left thy treasure far away
In the dread house of Shiloh? Other hands
Will feed thy nursling; other lips than thine
Pour into his fond ear the things of God.
Why floats upon the evening wind thy voice,
‘My heart rejoiceth in the Lord: my horn
Is lifted in my God: no rock is like
The Rock of our salvation’? Surely sighs,
Not songs, befit thy lot. Why singest thou?”

The mother probed her heart and inwardly
As in a muse made answer to herself,
“Had I not given my firstborn ere his birth
And pledged him as a lifelong loan to God?
And if He now has ta'en me at my word
Why should I mourn because my child is His
For ever? Ramah is not Shiloh: yet
The love of Ramah passes Shiloh's gates,
Yea, passes and repasses to and fro,
And wraps my darling round by day and night.
He ministers to God an infant priest:
I serve Him in the costliest offering
A mother's heart can render, and perforce
Must sing His praise. He has done all things well.
From His rich stores of immortality
He gave me this great gift, a deathless soul;
And now He deigns accept it from my hand;
Until the house of God above the heavens
Draw all, my husband and my child and me,
Within its mansions of eternal rest.”