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The Virgin
Mother
I am a woman of past glory
Whom all have tried to praise-
A virgin and a mother, so they say.
I sit beside your window every day,
Remembering how I held Him-
That Infant of high destiny
Born to be a King, the Angel said,
Within my arms enfolded,
He cried in human helplessness,
And sucked me with His little, dimpled mouth-
Virgin and mother is what men say of me-
A woman undervalued
By those who sing her praises-
The more they high exalt her
They undervalue her-
Belittling in the utterance of praise
The one who had speech with Gabriel.
That night I brought Him lowly forth,
And laid Him on the straw;
In a cow-box fitted for His bed,
And the Angels were His heralds,
And the oxen were His vassels,
And the humble ass His bearer-
The stars shone down on Him.
I did not count the years
In the passing of the days-
So safe we were, and so embraced
By the arms each of the other;
I had the joy of Him in birth and infancy-
No mother ever knew her son
So well, so well as I knew mine;
None had ever so much love
In baby cloths,
And pattering feet.
And chattering tongue,
And dribbling chin.
I tell you that I loved the Boy-
How could He ever bring me ill?
Though the seas might flood the land,
I held Him always by the hand;
And though the stars might fade and fail,
He was my Son, and still is All-
So, do not weep, or shadows see,
My Child brought always joy to me.
Pia Fugaccia
Christmas 2006
Sr. Giles (C) 2006
Edited
05/12/2008
Br Andrew EFO |
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