Being His Mother

Being his mother--when he goes away
  I would not hold him overlong, and so
  Sometimes my yielding sight of him grows O
  So quick of tears, I joy he did not stay
  To catch the faintest rumor of them!  Nay,
  Leave always his eyes clear and glad, although
  Mine own, dear Lord, do fill to overflow;
  Let his remembered features, as I pray,
  Smile ever on me!  Ah! what stress of love
  Thou givest me to guard with Thee thiswise:
  Its fullest speech ever to be denied
  Mine own--being his mother!  All thereof
  Thou knowest only, looking from the skies
  As when not Christ alone was crucified.