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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