Poems (Kimball)/Mary Mother
MARY MOTHER
MORE than royal Guest He layWhere the gentle kine made way For the Christ-Child meek as they.
Knelt the Magi round His bed, Bowèd low each proudest head; Mary Mother ponderèd.
Gold and frankincense and myrrh They the wise and great confer;Jesus mild looks up to her!
What her gift? Than nothing less!Oh that she might crown and Mess Him whom kings shall King confess!
Piercèd as with woes to come At His feet her soul lies dumb, Love, of all she hath, the sum!
Blessed among women, thou Who, exalted most, dost bow Lowliest among the low!