Have you heard a thrush sing while its nest burns in the wind?
Have you seen a woman whose sorrow is too much for tears, or a wounded heart that would rise beyond its own pain?
You have not seen such a woman, for you have not stood in the presence of Mary; and you have not been enfolded by the Mother Invisible.
In that still moment when the muffled hoofs of silence beat upon the breasts of the sleepless, John the young son of Zebedee, came and said:
“Mary Mother, Jesus is going forth. Come, let us follow Him.”
And Mary laid her hand upon John’s shoulder and they went out, and we followed them.
When we came to the Tower of David we saw Jesus carrying His cross. And there was a great crowd about Him.
And two other men were also carrying their crosses.
And Mary’s head was held high, and she walked with us after her son. And her step was firm.
And behind her walked Zion and Rome, ay, the whole world, to revenge itself upon one free Man.
When we reached the hill, He was raised high upon the cross.
And I looked at Mary. And her face was not the face of a woman bereaved. It was the countenance of the fertile earth, forever giving birth, forever burying her children.
Then to her eyes came the remembrance of His childhood, and she said aloud: