Classic Poem

Come, see King Solomon: the glorious youth
Is seated on his father's throne, his heart
With joy o'erflowing, and with gratitude
To Bethsabee, his mother, by whose prayer
He wears the diadem of kingly power.
His mother comes, and rising on his throne
He bows in reverence, and the courtiers place
The mother's throne upon her son's right hand.
‘One little grace, O King, refuse me not.’
‘My mother, ask; for 'tis not meet that I
Should turn away thy face,’ her son replies.
Such was the filial reverence of the King.

But come, behold a Monarch greater far
Than Solomon: at Cana's marriage feast
He sits, and words of grace from off his lips
Fall copiously for all; when, in his ear
A gentle whisper sounds, from One whose voice
Had brought him down on earth, whose voice had given
For thirty years the law to all his life.
‘My Son, they have no wine,’ his Mother says
With thoughtful love for men, with boundless trust
In his almighty power and loving heart.
‘What is there, Woman, between me and thee?
Mine hour is not yet come,’ her Son replies.
Thus, Jesus seems to turn away her face.

Oh, mystery: ‘His hour is not yet come.’
Wait, Mother, wait, until thou see the throne—
That throne of David of which Gabriel told,
The royal cross, whence o'er the hearts of men
Thy Son shall reign in majesty of love.
That is the throne thy prayer did win for him,
When he took flesh within thy virgin womb.
When he shall sit upon that throne of shame
His heart in love exulting, and shall taste
The vinegar with which they mock his thirst,
Then, is his nuptial hour; then, at his side
Thy throne of dolours shall be placed; and then,
Shall he confess thy true maternity,
And men shall cry: ‘Great Queen of Martyrs, hail.’

‘His hour is not yet come’: yet, Mary knows
The hour ne'er came when she could be refused,
And bids the servants wait upon his word.

Oh, wiser thou than Solomon, dear Lord;
Thy Mother too, more honoured far than his.
For Bethsabee soon hid her face in shame,
When Solomon, indignant at her prayer,
Despite his royal word, swore speedy death
Upon the man whose cause she undertook:
While Jesus, seeming to refuse, does all
And more than all, his Mother's prayer had asked.