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The Mother to Her Son

  • Author: Unknown
  • Editor: B-7413
  • Newspaper: The Umpire volume 6
  • Page Number:
  • Date: 2 28 1917
  • Tags:
  • poetry
  • mothers

The Mother to Her Son "There is no height, ~o depth, that could set us apart; Body of mine, soul of mine, heart of my heart. There is no sea so deep, no mountain so high That I could not come to you if I heard your cry. There is no hell so sunken, no Heaven so steep, Where I should not seek and find you, and keep. Now you are gentle, dear, sweet as a Rose-Not a stain on my spotless one-white as the Snow! If some day you would come to me, heavy with sin, I, your Mother, would open the door and let you in. I would wash you white again with my tears and grief; Body of mine, soul of mine, till you found relief. Tho' you had sinned all sins there are 'twixt East and West, You should find my arms wide for you, your head on my breast. Child , if I were in Heaven and you were in hell- Angels white as my spotless one stumbled and fell! I would leave the fields of God-Queen Mary's feet, Straight to the heart would go seeking my sweet. God mayhap would turn Him at sound of the door: ''Who is it goes out from Me, to come back no more?' Then the Blessed Mother would say from her throne: 'Son 'tis a Mother seeking her own- Body of mind, soul of mine, born of me, Thou wert once little, darling, beside my knee. It is so that Mothers are made-Thou madest them so; Body of mine, soul of mine, do I not know?' '' ~Author Unknown.