Our Lady of Sorrows at the Cross

Our Lady on Calvary

by Sr. Michael Marie, in  Sr. M. Thérèse, I Sing of A Maiden: The Mary Book of Verse. 

New York: Macmillan, 1947.

So like a queen she moves 

among the rabble. 

The shadow of the cross 

He bears falls upon her 

through the dim day’s glow. 

Wrapped in blue, calm, 

with stately tread 

she follows close, 

close - so very close 

she feels the terrible heat 

of His tortured heart 

upon her own. 

Her shoulders shrink 

beneath her gown 

as He stumbles and falls 

and the tree sinks deep 

in open wounds. 

But no sign of pain 

mirrors in her cold 

still face; 

No gasping cry parts 

her carved, white lips. 

He is silent. 

So is she. 

But from the shaded veil 

her eyes look out 

and cry the lie 

of her unbowed head; 

and buried deep 

in her mantle folds 

her fingers hurt 

themselves 

in agony.

Lady and Mother 

if only she could weep! 

But no, she is a queen, 

and queens are brave 

and full of strength, 

Even a Mother-Queen. 

Her Mother’s heart 

aches and swells 

in an unbent breast 

to lay that bloody head, 

its crown of crimson thorns removed, 

against its pillowed softness, 

to soothe those burning eyes 

with moist, light kisses; 

to fold those hands in a long caress

against her cheeks 

and pretend He is again 

her little child 

hurt in play 

and comforted to sleep 

in her arms. 

But He is a Man, 

a King 

with a task to do 

for truth 

and all that men will claim 

dear and just and beautiful 

in the days to be 

and through 

eternity.

She must see Him through 

His mission well done, 

Ever Queen and Mother of God.