A Botticelli Madonna III The Loving Christ

A poem by Ethel Allen Murphy

The little hands returning wistfully
From birdlike wand'rings, ever come to rest,
On fostering hand on tender cheek or breast;
The upturned eyes, with loving certainty
Seek ever the grave face where broodingly,
The mother-soul by yearning love opprest,
With wings down-drooped, seems folded o'er the nest
Where lies the Hope of all humanity.
And she His World, and He her Calvary,--
He wraps her round with all the mystery
Of love predestined for earth's needy ones;
"Be comforted," it seems He fain would say,
"O mother mine, there dawns an Easter day,
And thou in me hast mothered many sons."

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'A Botticelli Madonna III The Loving Christ' by Ethel Allen Murphy

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy