‘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, Incredible rose. 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
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