Passion Flowers (Watson)/The Divine Passion
The Divine Passion.
Mother Love.
When she is gone and solemn stillness lies
Along the way her eager feet have trod;
When upward glances of your tender eyes
Would follow her who has gone home to God:
What will you cherish most of gifts she wore,
Her tender eyes, a fancied grace of speech,
A fancied cleverness in ancient lore,
A fancied scope or an aspiring reach
Of thought, original and pure and strong?
What will you cherish most when she has left
This earthly tabernacle, and you long
With sad and aching heart because bereft?
Of all her gifts you'll cherish one above:
The gift none else can give—her mother-love.
Along the way her eager feet have trod;
When upward glances of your tender eyes
Would follow her who has gone home to God:
What will you cherish most of gifts she wore,
Her tender eyes, a fancied grace of speech,
A fancied cleverness in ancient lore,
A fancied scope or an aspiring reach
Of thought, original and pure and strong?
What will you cherish most when she has left
This earthly tabernacle, and you long
With sad and aching heart because bereft?
Of all her gifts you'll cherish one above:
The gift none else can give—her mother-love.