Classic Poem

The Child was gone: the Mother stood alone
Within her niche above the noisy street,
Where varied sounds against the silence beat,
And children's footsteps echoed on the stone.
" What mean those empty arms; she makes no moan
As if her Child were lost; her smile is sweet,
And every child that passes she will greet
With loving eyes?" The answer seemed unknown.
And yet I found the key: from school each day
The children trooped beneath our Lady's shrine,
And, as each passed, her empty arms were spread,
Like filling wings of angels when away
They bear child-souls up to the Heart Divine.
" I clasp you all; my own Child waits," she said.