Mother of Christ, upon whose forehead shone
The light ineffable that from above
Streamed from the dwelling of eternal love,
What time thou travail'dst with thy blessed Son,—
Foreshadowing in thine agony the pains
He suffered on the Cross,—O intercede
For her who seeks thee in her utmost need:
Fan the faint spark of life that yet remains
In my scarce-conscious babe; in mercy plead
That those small hands, cross-folded on his breast,
May not be stiffened in eternal rest:
Thou know'st a mother's anguish, and wilt heed
A mother's prayers, remembering the Child
That from thy breast looked up to thee and smiled!