MARY

I place my hope and consolation On Thee, my Heaven fair and bright, Upon Thy mercy without limit,— I place my hope and consolation On Thee, O Mother ever holy, The holy Power of all saints, All-sinless and forever blest! I pray to Thee, I weep and sob; Look, holy Mother, down on them, Those prisoners who have been seized And who are blind; give them the strength Of Thine own martyred Son, that they May bear their cross and heavy fetters Unto the end, the bitter end. O worthy of all praise! I bless Thee, The holy Queen of earth and heaven; Hark to their groans, and send to them A worthy end, O ever worshipped; Without ill feeling, I will sing, When the poor villages are happy, Thy sacred fortune everywhere With quiet and with cheerful psalms. But now there’s tears and woe and weeping For each poor soul and, poor myself, I add to them the final mite. I Once Mary dwelt, a hired servant, With Joseph, the old carpenter, Perhaps he was a pious cooper. She grew and turned to maidenhood And blossomed as a lovely flower Within a stranger’s poor abode, A quiet, holy paradise. The carpenter looked on his servant As on his own beloved child. He used to leave his plane and saw To look at her. The years passed by But he did not once even notice And think: “She has no living kin, No cabin of her very own— She’s all alone. And yet perchance Death stands not far behind my back.” She stays there underneath the hedge And spins white wool which she will fashion Into a festal suit for him, Or to the shore she’s wont to drive The goat with its warm-hearted kid To feed them and to give them drink; Although ’twas far, she loved to look At that serene and holy lake, By name Tiberias. And then She was so radiant with joy That Joseph sitting there was still And did not bar in any way Her trips to the dear lake. She went All smiling and he sat as ever And did not reach for plane or saw. The goat would drink and eat its fill. The maiden stood there by herself, As if entranced, amid the woods And looked with sad and troubled gaze Upon that broad and holy lake And prayed, “O beautiful, broad sea, Wide tsar of all the lakes that be, Tell me, O my wise counselor, What fate will open unto me With aged Joseph? O, my lot!” Then she bent over as a poplar Bends in the wind towards the ravine. “He looks upon me as his child. With my young shoulder I’ll support His weakened and infirm old age.” She cast her eyes around the scene, Until the sparks shown in her eyes, And from her good and youthful shoulders The ragged tunic softly slipped Away; such holy charm divine No eye had ever dared to see Or to imagine. Evil fate Brought to her such a crown of thorns And mocked about her beauty fair. O such a fate! Above the water She walked with the same quiet step. She found some flowers on the bank, She broke them off and made them then A flower cover for her head, Upon her holy, troubled brow, And entered in the forest dark. O our unsetting Sun of light, Most holy of all women ever! The fragrant gem of all the herbs! Within what woods and what ravines, And what unknown and secret caves Thou hidest now from that fierce heat Of those consuming rays of passion That burn the heart without a fire And drown it without water, drown The holy thoughts Thou always hast? Where art Thou hiding? No, nowhere, The fire blazed, as well it might. It burst to flame and then alas, For nothing is its power lost. It goes into the blood, the bone, That cursed fire naught can quench. And still unbroken, Thou must pass Through all the hottest flames of hell For Thy dear Son. Thy future fate Like prophecy appears to Thee Before Thine eyes. Do not look at it. Wipe off the tears that herald this, Adorn Thy head, a maiden’s head, With lilies and the wildly spread Red poppies too and fall asleep Beneath the vines where it is cool And see what comes! II Towards evening, like a shining star, Sweet Mary wandered from the grove, All wreathed in flowers, There Mount Thabor Just as if wrapped in gold and silver Shone far away so dazzling bright. It blinded all. Then to that Thabor Sweet Mary lifted up her eyes, So mild and holy as they were, And smiled. And then she caught the goat With its gay kid within the grove And ’gan to sing: “Heaven, heaven, O dense forest! I am young and, Gracious God, In Thy heaven Can I rest me, Play with pleasure?” Thus she spoke; Around her once she glanced so sadly And then into her arms she took The kid. She held him firmly And felt so happy as she went Unto the carpenter’s poor hut. She walked along and cuddled kindly And sang and played with the young kid And pressed it to her bosom softly And kissed it. For its part, the kid, As if it were a little kitten, Did not object and did not struggle; It nestled in her bosom, played. For two long miles she danced along With that sweet kid still in her arms And was not wearied. The old man Sat sadly ’neath the hedge and sought Her as if she were his own child; He came to meet her, welcomed her, And softly said: “Where have you been? My poor, dear child, please let me know! Let us go in the house and rest And have our supper there together With a delightful visitor. Let us go, daughter.” “Who is he, This new-come guest?” “From Nazareth He has come down to spend the night, And says, ‘The grace of God is come Upon the old Elizabeth. ’Twas yester morn it has occurred For yesterday,’ he says, ‘she bore A son and aged Zachariah Has called him by the name of John.’ That’s what he says....” The guest, relaxing, Well washed, now came out of the house, Dressed only in a tunic white. He shone like any flaming star. He paused majestic on the threshold, Made a low bow, and then he greeted Sweet Mary calmly. It seemed strange And wondrous too. The guest stood there And gleamed with more than human gleam. On him one glance did Mary cast And trembled and she turned away. She seemed just like a frightened child And to her aged Joseph turned. Her eyes then asked the youthful guest To enter in (or yet, ’tis better, They led him in.) At once she brought Cool water from the nearby spring And milk and goat’s cheese which she gave To them to have their evening meal. Herself she did not eat or drink, But silently knelt in the hut And looked and looked upon the guest And listened till the stranger spoke And turned his words to her directly. His holy words fell bright and clear Upon the heart of Mary dear, Until they chilled and burned it too. “In all Judea there never was—” So spoke the guest—“in ancient times What now is seen, for a new rabbi, A rabbi with a flaming word, Is coming now upon the meadow. His words grow swiftly and will bear A rich and overflowing crop, A holy seed. I go to preach A new Messiah to the people!” Then Mary prayed a silent prayer To the apostle. On the hearth The fire blazes soft and low And righteous Joseph sits alone And thinks ... By now the evening star Has risen brightly in the heavens. Then Mary rose and took the pitcher To fetch fresh water from the spring. The stranger followed and caught up With Mary in the deep ravine. At dawn, while it was cool, they led Th’ evangelist to that same sea And joyful were they in their hearts And joyously they made their way Unto their home. III For him waits Mary And waiting, weeps; her youthful eyes, Her eyelids and her wondrous lips Grow thin and pale. “You are not now As you were once, O Mary dear, A flower fair, our source of beauty.” Thus Joseph spoke—“Some thing most strange Has come o’er you, my dearest daughter. O Mary, let us go and wed Or else without a word they’ll kill you Upon the street but we will hide In our oasis.” For the trip Sweet Mary quickly made her ready And wept and sobbed to break her heart, And so they go upon their way. The old man took his newest yoke Within a basket on his shoulders; He wants to sell it and to buy A kerchief new for his sweet bride And give it to her as a present. O righteous, rich, revered old man, A blessing comes not from Mount Zion But from your quiet little home It is proclaimed to us. If he, The righteous, had not lent his hand, We would be worse than slaves of slaves And we would die. O suffering great! O heavy sadness of the soul, It is not you, ye poor, I pity, Ye blind and humble, poor in spirit, But those who wield above their heads The axe and hammer and who forge New fetters. For they’ll kill and slay you, They slay your soul and from a spring Of blood that comes from human hearts, They give the dogs to drink. But where Went that strange guest who was so evil? He might have come and glanced e’en once At this thrice glorious pure wedding, A stolen wedding! Not a sound Of him or of his great Messiah But men wait something and they wait What they don’t know. O Mary dear, What art Thou waiting in Thy sorrow And what wilt Thou await from God And from His people? Wait for naught And likewise do not think of waiting For that apostle. Thou art taken As bride by that poor carpenter Into his poor and humble home. Pray and give thanks, he did not spurn Thee And did not cast Thee on the street Or Thou mightst have been stoned to death, Hadst Thou not hid or fled away. But men said in Jerusalem Beneath their breath, who had come down From out Tiberias’ city That there the men had crucified One who proclaimed a new Messiah. “Can it be he?,” exclaimed sweet Mary, And joyfully she made her way To Nazareth. He too was glad That his dear servant bore in her The righteous seed of a good man Who lost his life for liberty. They go from there upon their way, They come back home and there they live As married but unhappy too. The carpenter now sets himself To make a cradle while she sits, Sweet Mary the immaculate, Beside the window and she looks Into the fields and sews apace Upon a little infant shirt.— For whom is it? IV “I want the master,” A voice cried in the court. “An order From Caesar, from the lord himself, Commands you go at once this hour For a great census in the city Of Bethlehem. Set forth at once.” That stern commanding voice is gone; The echo rings above the wood. So Mary went at once to bake Some cakes; and then without a word She put them in a little basket; Without a word she followed Joseph To Bethlehem. “O holy power, Protect me now, my God most dear,” That’s all she said. And so they go. Both of them are depressed and sad. Poor as they are—they drive before them The goat and with it its young kid, For there’s no one to care for them, And God might send to her the baby Upon the journey and the milk Would be a godsend to the mother. The animals stray onward feeding Along the way and side by side The man and woman walk behind them. And they begin to speak just as They will but softly. Joseph said: “The high priest Simeon said once To me a word prophetic, true. The holy law of Abraham And Moses now the pious Essenes Renew again in all its power; And I shall never die—he told me,— Until I see myself Messiah. O Mary, do you hear my words, Messiah comes.” “Nay, he has come, Ourselves we have Messiah seen.” Sweet Mary said. Then Joseph looked Within the basket, found a cake. He gave it to her. “Take this, child! Be strong for what is coming now! We are not near to Bethlehem, And I will rest for I am weary.” So they sat down beside the road To rest. Then while they’re sitting there, The righteous sun sank quickly down And hid itself behind the hill. It sank to rest and darkness came At once—and then a miracle. No one had ever heard or seen Of such a marvel. Joseph trembled For from the east a blazing comet Rose over Bethlehem far off. The comet seemed to be of fire And lighted all the steppe and mountains. But Mary did not rise from off The road. ’Twas then she bore her son, That child who by his wondrous power Saved all of us from prison cruel And as a saint was crucified For us, the evil and the sinful! Not far away along the road The shepherds saw the miracle And they gave heed. The wretched mother Together with the child they took And carried them into their cave And there the wretched shepherds gave To him the name Emmanuel. By sunrise in the market place Of Bethlehem the people gathered And whispered the exciting news That something strange would happen now In all Judea. They passed along The news in quiet tones. “O people,” A shepherd came and shouted out, “The words of Jeremiah and Isaiah now are true, are true! Among us shepherds has been born Messiah yesterday.” It spread Throughout the whole of Bethlehem. “Messiah!... Jesus!... Hail!... Hosanna!” The people scattered. V In an hour Or maybe two an order came From out Jerusalem from Herod. A legion came and brought an order Which men had never heard before. The swaddling children slept in peace, The mothers warmed their food—’twas needless. They needed not to bathe their children And to prepare them for the night. The soldiers bared and dipped their knives In the just blood of little children,— Such was the order Herod gave! Look on in horror now, O mother! And see what tsars like him can do! But Mary did not need to hide Herself and child. Praise to your names, The poor, untutored shepherds there Who greeted him, had hidden safely Our Savior and they saved him thus From Herod! So they fed him kindly And gave him drink, a little shirt And jacket for the toilsome journey, And poor as they were, yet they gave An ass’s foal and set the mother Upon it with her child and led it By secret paths amid the darkness Unto the road to Memphis. Then The comet, that great ball of fire, More brilliant than the sun, shone on That ass which carried into Egypt Sweet Mary and the young Messiah. Had ever queen sat so upon An ass, the fame of it would quickly Be spread abroad and all would talk Of her and of that ass forever Throughout the world. But Thee it bore. The true and living God upon it! A wretched Copt in after days Had tried to buy the ass of Joseph But it had died. Perhaps the road With its great load had worn it out. The child, bathed in the Nile, doth sleep In swaddling clothes beneath a willow More safely, and among the willows The righteous mother weaves a cradle And weeps the while she spends her time In weaving of the little cradle, While Joseph sets himself to build A little hut out of the reeds, That he may have a humble shelter. Across the Nile just like an owl The Sphinx with dread and fearsome eyes Looks on the scene; and there behind it The pyramids on the bare sands Stand like a chain in order due, Just as the guards set out by Pharaoh, As grim as if they had reported Of what they know, that God’s own truth Has risen and is come to earth, A menace to the Pharaoh’s power. Then Mary found a job to weave Soft garments for a Copt, while he, Saint Joseph, went to feed a flock That he might keep that single goat To furnish milk for his dear child. A year doth pass. Around the hut Within his own obscure domain The righteous holy carpenter Left no time to be spent in thinking. He fashions barrels and small kegs And murmurs oft. But why is this? Thou dost not weep and dost not sing; Thou thinkest ever without pause How best to teach him and to place Thy holy son on righteous paths And how to save him from all ills And shield him from the storms of life. Another year. Around the hut The goat still feeds, but the young child And the small kid together play Within the courtyard, while the mother Sits at the threshold of the hut And spins the wool of fibres soft. Meanwhile the old man walks on tiptoe And carries to the city barrels To sell. He buys the child a cookie, A kerchief for his darling wife, And for himself a good stout thong To make some sandals. There he sat. And then he said: “Don’t grieve, my daughter! For Herod, the cruel tsar, is dead! One evening he enjoyed a feast And ate so much it caused his death. Those are the tidings that I heard. Let us go now unto our grove, Unto our quiet, little heaven. Let us go homeward, daughter mine!” “Let’s go!”, she said and quickly went Unto the Nile to wash the shirts For her son’s journey. While the goat Played with the kid around the house, Saint Joseph played with his dear son Upon the threshold and the mother Washed in the river the small shirts. And after that within the house, He packed and tried out his new sandals For the long journey. All was ready Before the sunrise; then he took The basket on his shoulders and they Within the cradle bore the child. VI So on they went and reached their home. God grant no one may ever chance On such a sight. Their little love, Their quiet refuge in the field, Their one and only home and fortune, That place—they could not recognize it— All he had loved, the little house— All, all was plundered. ’Mid the ruins They had to spend a wretched night. And Mary quickly hurried down Unto the spring in the ravine, Where once the bright-faced holy guest Had met with her. The heavy grass, The spiny bushes, and the nettles Had thickly grown around the spring. Poor Mary, I am sorry for Thee! Pray, darling, pray at this sad time! Forge well Thy true and holy strength, Forge it with patience and endurance, Grow strong amid Thy bloody tears! She almost slipped within the spring And drowned herself. Then woe to us, Who would have been enshackled slaves! The child would then have grown alone Without his mother; we would know No truth and justice on this earth, No sacred freedom. She remembered And then she smiled despite her woe And sobbed a bit. The holy tears Poured down upon the wellhead there And dried away; and then she felt Much better. But Elizabeth, A widow old in Nazareth, Lived there with her one little son, With John, and she was distant kin Unto them. So in early morning The unhappy woman took her child And fed him and she dressed him up And with her saint she made the trip To Nazareth unto the widow To ask her for some hired work. The little child grew as it should And played together with young John, And he was soon a little boy. The two went out upon the street And played together. There they found Two sticks and took them to their homes And gave the wood unto their mothers Like other children! So they live, Both cheerful and both healthy too— The people watch them on their way. The little boy one day a stick Picked up from John for his own game, (For John was playing horse alone) And made a cross and bore it home To prove that way unto his mother That he knew how to work in wood. Then Mary met her little son Outside the gate, and lost her courage. She fainted too when she beheld That scaffold cross. “An evil man With foul intent and unkind plan Has taught thee to produce this thing. My dearest child, please drop it, drop it!” The little boy, all innocent, Threw down the sacred mark of death And sobbed aloud and shed boy’s tears For the first time upon the bosom Of his dear mother. This kind act Refreshed her soul. She rose again And took him to a nice cool spot Within the garden on the grass. She kissed him and she gave him cakes, Fresh cakes. And then he fondled her And played and sang a little while And fell asleep to lullabies. Upon her knees he lay and slept. The child slept on in peaceful slumber Just like an angel there in heaven. The mother looked on her one child And shed such quiet, blissful tears, The angel slept so still and lovely, It would be wrong to try to wake him. She could not look at him enough. A single tear just as a flame Fell on him and without delay The child awoke. Sweet Mary quickly Wiped off her tears and tried to smile, Lest he behold them, but she could not Deceive her little son at all. He caught her action, guessed it well And ’gan to sob. She earned a little (Or else the widow lent it to her) That she might buy a book for him. She would have taught him, but she knew Not how to read. She took the boy And sent him to a little school Among the Essenes. And meanwhile She gave him lessons in the good And in the right. Meanwhile young John, The widow’s son, had done the same. The boys went to the school together And studied too, He never played With other children on the street Or ran around. All by himself, He used to sit in the long grass And fashion there with childish hand A little staff; and try to help His holy father in his work. VII Then in the young boy’s seventh year, (For he already showed great skill) While resting in a corner dark The old man thought about his son, What trade he would adopt in life, What kind of man he would become. He took his pails and other wares And father, mother, and the son Went to the greatest market there, Jerusalem, the capital. The trip was long but there they could Get better prices. So they went. They strayed apart. The parents then Sat down to try and sell their goods. They paid no heed to the young boy. He ran around.... The mother wept And sought her son. There was no hint Of where he was. She went at last Unto a synagogue to pray For his return and there, behold, The child, her child, was sitting there Among the rabbis in the midst And teaching in his innocence How men should live and love their fellows, Should stand for truth and die for truth— Without truth woe comes! “Woe to you. Ye teachers and ye high priests too!” The Pharisees looked on amazed, The scribes all wondered at his words And great was then the holy joy That Mary felt! For she had seen Messiah, had seen God on earth With her own eyes.... They sold their wares, Then in the temple prayed to God And cheerfully they started home. They made their journey in the night Amid the cool. The Holy Children Grew up together and they learned Some more each day; and both their mothers Were proud and happy when they saw Their children. But they finished school. Then on the thorny path of life They parted; both preached God’s true word, The sacred truth for men on earth. They preached and both were crucified For freedom, sacred freedom true. John made his way into the desert. Thy son—among men; and with him, With thine upright and truthful son, Thou wentst along. In the old hut She left Saint Joseph there alone To live alone among the strangers. She wandered here and wandered there Until at last she reached her goal At Golgotha. VIII The holy mother Went everywhere with her dear son; She listened to his every word; She watched his acts and was enthralled And joyed in still anxiety When she looked at him. For he would Sit on the Mount of Olives often And rest a while. Jerusalem Was proudly spread before his eyes— The priest of Israel flashed proudly In all his golden robes and rich, A humble slave of Roman gold! An hour, two, would pass away. He would not stir or look at her But weep and wonder at the wealth Of the Judean capital. Then she would weep and make her way Down to the spring in a ravine And quickly would bring back with her Fresh water, and would humbly wash His sacred feet which were so weary. She’d give him drink and brush him off And shake the dust from his white tunic, She’d mend a hole, and then again Go to the fig tree and sit down And look, an ever holy mother, At her sad son, while he was resting. Perhaps the children then would run From out the city; they would follow Him always through the busy streets And sometimes to the Mount of Olives The little ones would come to him. They would run up,—“O holy ones, And sinless too”—he used to say. Then when he saw the children, he Would rise and kiss them, give his blessing. He’d play with them just like a child, Put on a wreath, and gay and happy, He’d go with all his children dear Unto Jerusalem to preach, Tell to the wicked words of truth. They would not hear and crucified him. When they led him to Golgotha, Thou stoodst at a crossroad nearby With the same children (for the men, His brothers and disciples too) Had lost their courage and had fled. “O let him go, O let him go! He’ll lead you to the self same fate.” She said this to the children, then She fell upon the earth and fainted. Thine only child was crucified And Thou, beneath the hedge abiding, Went back again to Nazareth. The widow long before was buried By strangers in a hired casket. She’d been alone for her dear John In prison had been murdered too. Thy Joseph was no longer there And Thou wast left alone to live Just as a broken stick. Yes, that Was Thy sad fate, O mother dear! His brothers and disciples too, Unsteady men of little soul, Concealed themselves from hangmen cruel. They hid and then they separated, And Thou wast forced to seek them out.... By night they gathered round about Thee And came to grieve with thee and mourn, But Thou, the greatest among women, Didst scatter all their fear and terror, Just as the chaff that blows away, With Thy most holy word of fire; Thou sentst at last Thy holy spirit Into their petty souls! All praise, All praise to Thee, O holy Mary! The holy men regained their poise, They travelled through the whole wide world And in the name of Thy great Son, Thy suffering and martyred Child, They spread the news of love and truth Throughout the world; Thou weptst and grievedst And ’neath a hedge among tall grass, Thou starvedst to death. Amen! Amen!