Ad Matrem Dolorosam

Think not thy little fountain's rain

That in the sunlight rose and flashed,

From the bright sky has fallen again,

To cold and shadowy silence dashed.

The Joy that in her radiance leapt

From everlasting hath not slept.

The hand that to thy hand was dear,

The untroubled eyes that mirrored thine,

The voice that gave thy soul to hear

A whisper of the Love Divine —

What though the gold was mixed with dust?

The gold is thine and cannot rust.

Nor fear, because thy darling's heart

No longer beats with mortal life,

That she has missed the ennobling part

Of human growth and human strife.

Only she has the eternal peace

Wherein to reap the soul's increase.