O'er her dear babe she leaned with watchful care, Thanked God for the great gift of Motherhood, Dreamed all her dreams fulfilled, saw how wise, good, And strong her son would grow with years. Would there Be one, indeed, who might with him compare? O Mother of Iscariot, how could God bless thee more, since in Christ's Brotherhood Thy son shall leader be, His Lordship share? It is finished! The Christ is crucified! Dead, too, that one by whom He was betrayed! O Mother's grief that Mary never knew, O stricken heart, that more than Death hath tried, What were our hope, or help, had He not prayed, "Forgive them for they know not what they do"? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOKEN AT A CASTLE GATE by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON UNTITLED, 1968; FOR MARK ROTHKO by JAMES GALVIN PLEDGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BRUTUS AND ANTONY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OCTAVES: 2 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON ORANGUTAN REHAB by KAREN SWENSON |