MADONNA by ARTHUR GLYN PRYS-JONES

GOD made her on His loom of time,
And long He wove with wondrous things,
He took a lamb from out a fold
And spoiled the clouds of sunset gold:
In purest lilies aureoled
He chaliced blood that flowed in kings:
He caught a sunbeam passing rare
And bound it captive in her hair
To glorify her face sublime.

Then, like a fawn, He made her fleet,
And with a wave He wrought her strong,
And, at His word, the glory sped
From a new rose that west winds fed
To tinge her lips a crimson red
And make her mouth a wonder-song:
He gave her breath from hidden bowers
Of violets and lotus flowers,
So that her words were honey-sweet.

Then lo! God kissed her in the dawn
And gave her soul His gift of love:
He put two lilies on her breast,
And made her eyes twin pools of rest:
And o'er the body He caressed
He set peace brooding like a dove:
He gave a secret to the wind
That in deep travail she would find
Eternal joy of anguish born.

And in her Babe's divinity
She read the miracles of God:
Above His Head—a thornéd star—
Within His side—a hidden scar
To draw stranger nations from after
Along a path unknown, untrod:
And in His tiny, raisèd hands
She saw uplifted in strange lands
The cross and crown of Calvary.

Behold she dwells amid the throng
Of passing faces through the years,
Her voice is as a glad refrain,
Her touch is balm of dew and rain;
Her fingers pluck the thorns of pain
And staunch the bitter wells of tears;
And down the labyrinths of sin
Her angel-presence ushers in
The echoes of a ceaseless song.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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