THE PLACE OF REST

          Unto the deep the deep heart goes,
           It lays its sadness nigh the breast:
         Only the Mighty Mother knows
           The wounds that quiver unconfessed.

          It seeks a deeper silence still;
           It folds itself around with peace,
          Where thoughts alike of good or ill
           In quietness unfostered cease.

             It feels in the unwounding vast
             For comfort for its hopes and fears:
                The Mighty Mother bows at last;
                  She listens to her children's tears.

                 Where the last anguish deepens -- there
                      The fire of beauty smites through pain:
                                 A glory moves amid despair,
                                        The Mother takes her child again.


                                                            A.  E.