Classic Poem

“WHERE have ye laid my Lord?
Behold, I find Him not!
Hath He, in heaven adored,
His home forgot?
Give me, O sons of men,
My truant God again!”

“A voice from sphere to sphere—
A faltering murmur—ran,
‘Behold, He is not here!
Perchance with Man,
The lowlier made than we,
He hides His majesty.’”

Then, hushed in wondering awe,
The spirit held his breath,
And bowed: for, lo, he saw
O'ershadowing Death,
A Mother's hands above,
Swathing the limbs of Love!