A poem by Arthur Sherburne Hardy

O Mary, Mother, if the day we trod
In converse sweet the lily-fields of God,
From earth afar arose a cry of pain,
Would we not weep again?
(Sings) Hush, hush, O baby mine,
Mothers twain are surely thine,
One of earth and One divine.

O Mary, Mother, if the day the air
Was sweet with songs celestial, came a prayer
From earth afar and mingled with the strain,
Would we not pray again?
(Sings) Sleep, sleep, my baby dear,
Mothers twain are surely near,
One to pray and one to hear.

O Mary, Mother, if, as yesternight
A bird sought shelter at my casement light,
A wounded soul should flutter to thy breast,
Wouldst thou refuse it rest?
(Sings) Sleep, darling, peacefully,
Mary, Mother, comforts me;
Christ, her son, hath died for thee.

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