The door was closed, and in the narrow room
A silence reigned like midnight in a tomb;
Beside her cot a slender woman knelt in prayer,
Her hair unbound, unkempt in her despair.

At last she spoke:

"Great Father, He is in Thy hands tonight,
And I who loved Him so, am here alone.
Ah, how He used to play in the sun's light,
His laugh so clear it echoed to Thy throne!

So strangely gentle was He day by day,
So fair, and yet so buoyant in His play--
Ah, God, to me He is a baby still!
I do not question but it is Thy will

That He should die, but Thou canst say
How dark it is tonight with Him away."
Two slender arms stretched white across the cot,
And Jesus' mother wept.

The door was closed, and in the narrow room
A silence reigned like midnight in a tomb;
Beside her window, facing the black night,
A woman stood; her face was ghastly white.

At last she spoke:

"Jehovah, my fine boy has gone away,
And everywhere his name is cursed, I hear;
Surely his childish laugh rang yesterday.
Ah, me, he was a headstrong boy, I fear,

Impulsive always, I have heard him say
The Teacher whom he brought here held 'twas joy
To lift the fallen to a brighter day,
Then, God forgive, forgive my little boy."

Two strong, bare arms lifted, then fell limp,
And Judas' mother wept.

--Mrs. Paul G. Ledig.