Poetry Archives

The mother by the gallows-tree,
  The gallows-tree, the gallows-tree,
(While the twitching body mocked the sun)
Lifted to Heaven her broken heart
  And called for sympathy.

Then Mother Mary bent to her,
  Bent from her place by God’s left side,
And whispered: “Peace—do I not know?—
  My son was crucified!”

“O Mother Mary,” answered she,
  “You cannot, cannot enter in
To my soul’s woe—you cannot know—
  For your son wrought no sin!”

(And men whose work compelled them there,
  Their hearts were stricken dead;

They heard the rope creak on the beam;
  I thought I heard the frightened ghost
  Whimpering overhead.)

The mother by the gallows-tree,
  The gallows-tree, the gallows-tree,
Lifted to Christ her broken heart
  And called in agony.

Then Lord Christ bent to her and said:
  “Be comforted, be comforted;
I know your grief; the whole world’s woe
  I bore upon my head.”

“But O Lord Christ, you cannot know,
  No one can know,” she said, “no one”—
(While the quivering corpse swayed in the wind)—
“Lord Christ, no one can understand
  Who never had a son!”