W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
Mary at the CrossGeorge MacDonald (18241905)
To light it from the door;
When woman’s aid no further goes,
She weeps and loves the more.
And feared his mission’s loss;
But now she shares the losing strife,
And weeps beside the cross.
The sword has reached her soul;
The hour of timid hope is past,
Unveiled the awful whole.
Who in her arms did rest;
Those limbs the nails and hammer tore,
Have lain upon her breast.
Invade her desolate ear;
The mother’s heart, though bleeding, bounds
Her dying son to hear.
Thy mother.” Best relief—
That woful love in hers to fold
Which next to hers was chief!
He gave, lest grief should kill,
While he was down among the dead,
Doing his Father’s will.
Shall make him hers anew—
More hers than when, in her embrace,
His life from hers he drew.