The Mother.
By Margaret Steele Anderson
Yes, Lord, I know! The child is thine
And in thy house he shall grow up.
Nor know the lash of life, nor cup
Of trembling, as if child of mine.
But ah, forgive me!, is he warm?
And fed? Or does he miss my breast?
Oh, I blaspheme! But can he rest.
And never cry, in Mary's arm?