| To the Mother of Christ the Son of Man |
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We too (one cried), we too,
We the unready, the perplexed, the cold,
Must shape the Eternal in our thoughts anew,
Cherish, possess, enfold.
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Thou sweetly, we in strife.
It is our passion to conceive Him thus
In mind, in sense, within our house of life;
That seed is locked in us.
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We must affirm our Son
From the ambiguous Nature’s difficult speech,
Gather in darkness that resplendent One,
Close as our grasp can reach.
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Nor shall we ever rest
From this our task. An hour sufficed for thee,
Thou innocent! He lingers in the breast
Of our humanity.
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