‘Am I not here who am thy Mother -
What dost thou fear?’
Deep in the tangled brushwood of my hours,
You are a sudden clearing, Madre mia,
Amid the choke of thorn,
And where my fears sit huddled in their trembling,
You are a soft word spoken, O Maria,
In heart’s cacophany, a splendid chord!
Brave alabaster out of hope-shards builded,
What need I dream of beauty, I who know
Curve of your cheek, the raven hair low-winging,
Soft swell of lip, the delicate flight of brow!
Exuberance, be hedged in Christ oh! Sweetly
By this rumorous smile’s so wistful bands;
And sorrow, find your meaning, find your haven
In this gentle fold of olive hands.
Authentic glimpse of heaven, Madre mia,
Your image my supernal dividend
On sorrow, and my pledge past all devising
Of paradisal day. What shall I fear
Of pain, of death, of diverse ignominy
When you are here, Maria, when you are here.
Mother Mary Francis PCC, 1921-2006
Fr Lee Kenyon