Classic Poem

Mary and her child proceeding
Into Egypt through the waste
(Good Saint Joseph humbly leading,
Without loitering or haste.)

Whenas they had crossed the border
Of the country which they fled,
For the dread of pagan murder,
This is part of what they said:

First the Boy in childish wonder
Asks the Mother what she thinks
Of the tiger resting yonder.
That, my Child, is called the Sphinx.

Mother, may I ask the creature
Whence her aspect sweet and mild,
Whence her goodly, human feature?
Mary answered: Hush, my Child

Mother, may I climb the mountain,
May I scale its jagged side,
Grace its summit like a fountain?
Mary, pensive, thus replied:

Tis a sign of ancient learning,
Or a tomb of former kings;
When Thou comest to discerning,
Teach me this and other things

Mother, have we lost direction?
Be of courage, do not fear;
Do not yield to thy affliction.
Is our destination near?

Ah, the tree its limbs resemble!
Tis its shape afflicts me most
Gentle Mother, do not tremble;
See, tis but a finger-post.