Dear Mother of the Saviour, lo, to thee
I turn, too conscious of infirmity:
For who can contemplate with tearless eye,
Or unconcern, the grievous destiny
Through life awaiting God's Own Son, and thee.
O Mother, overwhelmed I look on thee
Who - all absorbed in that grand Life, to be
Self-offered truly, an Oblation free,
In sacrifice for our iniquity -
Followed His every Footstep, secretly.
Who can, unmoved, that Gracious Presence see
Of such surpassing, sweet simplicity,
A Pilgrim on the plains of Galilee -
Each burthen lightening of mortality,
Each rudeness bearing of hostility?
Lo, what a Sword of Grief awaited thee
When, in the Holy Spirit's power, did He
Return from Jordan into Galilee,
To Nazareth thy Home - whence He would be
Expelled, with anger and with contumely.
O Mother, seen and heard hadst thou, how He
Had wrought among the people wondrously.
The sick were healed, the blind were made to see,
The lepers cleansed, the dead upraised, and He
All hearts had won through lowly Galilee.
But here, oh, what a Word of Grace had He
In power outpoured upon them. Here had He
The Prophet's Word divulged, and taught that He
The Lord's Anointed was, and sent to be
Their Teacher and their Healer, verily.
Ah, Nazareth, His Childhood's home would be
The first to disregard the Deity
Who in Him wrought, and never more would He
Appear amongst them; never more would be
In Nazareth heard that Voice of Majesty.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote