Treasure Island

Edith Nesbit

(15 August 1858 – 4 May 1924 / Kennington / Surrey / England)

The Crown Of Life


THE days, the doubts, the dreams of pain
Are over, not to come again,
And from the menace of the night
Has dawned the day-star of delight:
My baby lies against me pressed--
Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed!


His little head upon my arm,
His little body soft and warm,
His little feet that cannot stand
Held in the heart of this, my hand.
His little mouth close on my breast--
Thus, Mary's Son, are mothers blessed.


All dreams of deeds, all deeds of day
Are very faint and far away,
Yet you some day will stand upright
And fight God's foes, in manhood's might,
You--tiny, worshipped, clasped, caressed--
Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed.


Whatever grief may come to be
This hour divine goes on for me.
All glorious is my little span,
Since I, like God, have made a man,
A little image of God's best--
Thus, Mary's Son, are mothers blessed.


Come change, come loss, come worlds of tears,
Come endless chain of empty years;
They cannot take away the hour
That gives me You--my bird, my flower!
Thank God for this! Leave God the rest!--
Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed.

Submitted: Monday, April 19, 2010

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