82 Hours of the Night

Her Son, all living and real,

Risen no more to die, — With the power of an endless life in his face,

With the light of heaven in his eye.

O mourning mothers, so many. Weeping o'er sons that are dead.

Have ye thought of the sorrows of Mary's heart. Of the tears that Mary shed ?

Is the crown of thorns before you ?

Are there memories of cruel scorn ? Of hunger and thirst and bitter cold

That your beloved have borne ?

Had ye ever a son like Jesus

To give to a death of pain ? Did ever a son so cruelly die.

But did he die in vain ?