MOTHER'S MONUMENT

 

MOTHER’S MONUMENT

A priest one day made his weary way

Into a graveyard where his mother lay;

And scarcely had he reached the humble mound

Than tears rolled down to bless the hallowed ground.

Beside the humble grave the priest then knelt

To tell the sorrow his heart then felt.

Full many a messenger of sorrow went

To make excuse that yet no monument

Stood guardian o’er his sweet mother’s head,

To honour her who lay among the dead.

And then a voice came gently from the tomb:

“My monument was builded in my womb;

My greatest laurels, greatest praises were won,

The hour when thou became my priestly son.

Go, then, my son, and never more lament

That o’er my grave stands no monument;

For all the souls in heav’n whom thou hast sent

For e’er proclaim thee as my monument.”