Mother most Patient, hard it was for thee
Unmoved to live amid uncertainty:
As higher clomb thy Soul, more deep would be
Its power intense of suffering, to see
The Son of God a prey to calumny.
Thy brethren lead the way; in Him they see
As yet the Son of Joseph; thou must be
O Mother, silent on that Mystery.
The people throng; fresh wonders worketh He
In His great Might - yet ever-blind they be.
The Servant of the people: tenderly
Heals He their sicknesses: they press to be
Touched by His Garments only. So will He
The poor demoniacs from their torments free -
The very Devils owning God is He.
Clamour the people. They are, verily,
Blind with excitement; refuge seeketh He
With His new-made Apostles. See, they be
In their retreat besieged. They cannot flee,
Even for needful sustenance. So He
Remains in peace. The Father's Will must be
His Lode-star ever. But His Brethren He
Heareth exclaiming: 'He is mad. Oh, see,
This must we stop' - and unadvisedly,
Haste they from thence to stay Him forcibly.
Scribes from Jerusalem are there. They see
With scorn the multitude. 'Not mad is He,
But by a Devil led; in verity,
The spirit of Beelzebub hath He' -
Thus leadeth unbelief to blasphemy.
The clamours of the people and the cry
Of these blasphemers, reach the sanctuary
Where Mary prayeth. Full of grief doth she
Her kinsfolk follow; how could she foresee
And not prevent a deed of blasphemy?
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote