The Cruse Of Tears Poem by Emily Pfeiffer

A RUSSIAN LEGEND.


There went a widow woman from the outskirts of the city,
Whose lonely sorrow might have moved the stones she trod to pity.
She wandered, weeping through the fields, by God and man forsaken,
Still calling on a little child, the reaper Death had taken.
When, lo! upon a day she met a white-robed train advancing,
And brightly on their golden heads their golden crowns were glancing;
Child Jesus led a happy band of little ones a-maying,
With flowers of spring, and gems of dew, all innocently playing.
Far from the rest the widow sees, and flies to clasp, her treasure;
‘What ails thee, darling, that thou must not take with these thy pleasure?’
‘Oh, mother, little mother mine, behind the rest I tarry,
For see, how heavy with your tears the pitcher I must carry;
‘If you had ceased to weep for me, when Jesus went a-maying,
I should have been among the blest, with little Jesus playing.’