The Only Son

His mother died last year and yet She wearied Heaven with fear and fret, Wanting the son she left behind, And God was patient, being kind. He was so beautiful, so young, Slender as a tall tree, wind-swung; Innocent, gay: she went in fear Something might hurt him, lacking her. She heard amid the starry mirth Rumour of dreadful things on earth. Of sweet youth slain and beauty marred Beyond all balm and spikenard. Oh, had she visions of his plight Lying in the red rain at night Amid the piteous heap of slain, That she was wild with fear and pain? God gives His angels. But she went Uncomforted and discontent. Because no angel ever knew The way to love that mothers do. And so she wearied Heaven with prayer, Her knees for ever on God's stair, Her troubled thoughts for ever abeat Like wings about the Mercy-Seat. At last God heard her. Swift as the wind His messenger went forth to find Her son and bring him to her breast So that at last her heart might rest. She died a year ago and still Her cup of Heaven's untasted till God's messenger returns to say: 'He fell in action yesterday.'