<h2> The Gift of God </h2>
<p>Blessed with a joy that only she<br/>
Of all alive shall ever know,<br/>
She wears a proud humility<br/>
For what it was that willed it so,—<br/>
That her degree should be so great<br/>
Among the favored of the Lord<br/>
That she may scarcely bear the weight<br/>
Of her bewildering reward.<br/>
<br/>
As one apart, immune, alone,<br/>
Or featured for the shining ones,<br/>
And like to none that she has known<br/>
Of other women's other sons,—<br/>
The firm fruition of her need,<br/>
He shines anointed; and he blurs<br/>
Her vision, till it seems indeed<br/>
A sacrilege to call him hers.<br/>
<br/>
She fears a little for so much<br/>
Of what is best, and hardly dares<br/>
To think of him as one to touch<br/>
With aches, indignities, and cares;<br/>
She sees him rather at the goal,<br/>
Still shining; and her dream foretells<br/>
The proper shining of a soul<br/>
Where nothing ordinary dwells.<br/>
<br/>
Perchance a canvass of the town<br/>
Would find him far from flags and shouts,<br/>
And leave him only the renown<br/>
Of many smiles and many doubts;<br/>
Perchance the crude and common tongue<br/>
Would havoc strangely with his worth;<br/>
But she, with innocence unwrung,<br/>
Would read his name around the earth.<br/>
<br/>
And others, knowing how this youth<br/>
Would shine, if love could make him great,<br/>
When caught and tortured for the truth<br/>
Would only writhe and hesitate;<br/>
While she, arranging for his days<br/>
What centuries could not fulfill,<br/>
Transmutes him with her faith and praise,<br/>
And has him shining where she will.<br/>
<br/>
She crowns him with her gratefulness,<br/>
And says again that life is good;<br/>
And should the gift of God be less<br/>
In him than in her motherhood,<br/>
His fame, though vague, will not be small,<br/>
As upward through her dream he fares,<br/>
Half clouded with a crimson fall<br/>
Of roses thrown on marble stairs.<br/></p>
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