Mater Dolorosa

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The nuns sing, "_ora pro nobis_,"
  The lancets glitter above;
  And the beautiful Virgin whose robe is
  Woven of infinite love,
  Infinite love and sorrow,
  Prays for them there on high;--
  Who has most need of her prayers,--to-morrow
  Shall tell them,--they or I?

  Up in the hills together
  We loved, where the world seemed true;
  Our world of the whin and heather,
  Our skies of a nearer blue,
  A blue from which one borrows
  A faith that helps one die--
  O Mother, sweet Mother of Sorrows,
  None needs such more than I!

  We lived, we loved unwedded--
  Love's sin and its shame that slays!--
  No ill of the year we dreaded,
  No day of its coming days;
  Its coming days, their many
  Trials by morn and night,
  And I know no land, not any,
  Where love's lilies grow so white!

  Was he false to me, my Mother!
  Or I to him, my God!--
  Who gave thee right, O brother!
  To take God's right and rod!
  God's rod of avenging morrows,
  And the life here in my side!
  O Mother, God's Mother of Sorrows,
  For both I would have died!

  By the wall of the Chantry kneeling,
  I pray and the organ rings,
  "_Gloria! gloria!_" pealing,
  "_Sancta Maria_" sings!
  They will find us dead to-morrow
  By the wall of their nunnery,
  O Mother, sweet Mother of Sorrow!
  His unborn babe and me.

© Madison Julius Cawein