Classic Poem

O sweet, delicious motherhood!
I, even I, am part —
I feel it next my heart —
Of that strange power that worlds did brood,
In which all life doth start.

It is the mighty God, I know,
Who thrills my being through, —
He lives in star and dew —
And, as June roses bud and blow,
So bids me blossom too.

Within my soul the sacred root
Of this new life runs down, —
Sweet love the seed hath sown —
Thence upward grows and comes to fruit,
And all my life doth crown.

I am become creator then:
God's secret I can guess, —
O wondrous happiness! —
I stand, the mother proud of men,
That strong sons love and bless.

Close at the universe's core,
And out through all its range, —
It rules life, death, and change —
This secret lives forevermore,
Sacred, divine, and strange.

The soul that doth this burden miss,
Unlinked in being's chain,
It seeks a fancy vain —
Shirking God's care, life's keenest bliss
Loses, nor finds again.

The cradle is God's purest shrine:
At this fair fount of life, —
Hush here, O world, your strife! —
Bow with veiled eyes, and call divine
The mother crowned as wife.