IF MARY HAD KNOWN

IF Mary had known

When she held her Babe’s hands in her own—

Little hands that were tender and white as a rose,

All dented with dimples from finger to wrist,

Such as mothers have kissed——

That one day they must feel the fierce blows

Of a hatred insane,

Must redden with holiest stain,

And grasp as their guerdon the boon of the bitterest pain,

Oh, I think that her sweet, brooding face

Must have blanched with its anguish of knowledge above her embrace.

But—if Mary had known,

As she held her Babe’s hands in her own,

What a treasure of gifts to the world they would bring;

What healing and hope to the hearts that must ache,

And without him must break;

Had she known they would pluck forth death’s sting

And set open the door

Of the close, jealous grave evermore,

Making free who were captives in sorrow and dark- ness before,

Oh, I think that a gracious sunrise

Of rapture had broken across the despair of her eyes!

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