A BOTTICELLI MADONNA



                   III

            THE LOVING CHRIST

T IlE little hands returning wistfully
T      From birdlike wand'rings, ever come to
        rest,
On fostering hand on tender cheek or breast;
The upturned eyes, with loving certainty
Seek ever the grave face where broodingly,
The mother-soul by yearning love opprest,
With wings down-drooped, seems folded o'er
          the nest
Where lies the Hope of all humanity.
And she His World, and He her Calvary,-
He wraps her round with all the mystery
Of love predestined for earth's needy ones;
" Be comforted," it seems He fain would say,
"0 mother mine, there dawns an Easter day,
And thou in me hast mothered many sons."