Oh, surely thou didst know all truths that be
Enfolded in the heavenly Mystery,
By which thou wert enshrouded; doubtlessly
E'en in the hours of earliest infancy
Who would thy Soul illumine, if not He?
Lo, from the Twelve He did not hide how He
Would suffer unto death ingloriously.
Yet, to console those sorrowing Ones, did He
The veil a moment lift, when radiantly
On Thabor's height shone His Humanity.
Then say, O Virgin-Mother, could it be,
Through all those years of recollection, He
That glory transcendental, would not thee
In fitting seasons show advisedly?
And thus to scenes more hard encourage thee?
Before thy sunlit Soul in clarity
The picture of His Doom revealed would be;
That so, the sharer of His toil might see
The end of that sweet Life, in vision, which He
Had taken with thine own consent from thee.
Lo, He had asked permission Man to be;
And thou didst give it. Could it ever be
When came the hour that Life to offer, He
Should set aside such high Maternity,
Nor seek permission of the same from thee?
Lo, if the Mother that Humanity
Offers to God, is not Maternity
Doing her utmost? God's Paternity
May do no more than give His Son to die.
Oh, who dare fathom such grand Unity?
The Victim hast thou offered wittingly,
O tender Mother, and the hour draws nigh.
As Abraham with Isaac, thou wilt be
Called to Moriah's mount. But ah, for thee
That woeful Way must end on Calvary.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote