Classic Poem

She cometh to the seaward shrine,
A mother, with her children three;
And they have made the holy sign,
And they have dropped on bended knee;
Three in the lowly rite combine,
And one is cradled peaceably.
That mother's heart hath business here,
For she doth love the mariner.
Her gallant boy is on the deep;
She loves him more that he is brave;
Yet when around Peloro's steep
The midnight surges leap and rave,

What marvel if a mother weep!
And, thinking on the tropic wave,
Doth flee to thee, Oh mother mild!
Thou mother of the blessed child!
Through winds that sweep like hurricane,
And deadly lightning's lurid light,
She speedeth to the pillared fane,
Where thou dost stand in silver bright
If solace but for him she gain,
What should a mother's soul affright!
And now the porch-way she doth win,
And thro' the portal glideth in.
I love the ever open door
That welcomes to the house of God!
I love the wide-spread marble floor,
By every foot in freedom trod!
Free altars let me kneel before,
Free as the pathway or the sod,
Whence journeying pilgrim, 'mid broad air,
Wafts unpremeditated prayer.

She prayeth 'mid the silent pile;
Her whispers round the columns creep;
She prayeth all alone; the while
Her babes at home securely sleep.
Their brother loved to see her smile—
She would not they should see her weep;
Youth's rightful joys she will not dim
With tears—not even tears for him.
But now, when eve is calm and bright,
You see her here; and not alone;
Her children, in the sweet blue light,
Are with her by the sculptured stone;
With her they share a soothing sight,
Yon scarce-stirred bark—the only one—
Almost as still, on that still tide,
As unrocked cradle by her side.
Bland omen doth that vessel bring;
'As smoothly sails his vessel now;'
Then mark how hope and fondness cling
Around the elder maiden's brow,

The while on that sweet younger thing,
Too young to frame itself a vow,
The mother thoughtful hand doth lay,
And timely teacheth how to pray.
As homeward now their way they trace,
Their bosoms own no anxious smart;
For they have seen that blessed face,
And know how She can calm impart,
Who, tho' in heaven's supremest place,
Bears as on earth a woman's heart;
And know that She will guard him—She—
Mother of Him, who walked the sea!
And if, at last, those hopes deceive,
Yet be our reasoning scorn represt
Nay, since 'tis sweet to those who grieve
To dream of comfort and of rest,
Dissuade not, if they do believe,
And, leaning on that Mother blest,
Link earth below to heaven above
By tender ties of human love.