Poem, Mary Mother of Jesus

Mary Mother of Jesus

Mary, precious is thy name
More than any other
Borne by mortal ; for it came
From our Savior's mother !
Mary pillowed on her breast
Jesus, once, in infant rest :
Now her name, in sacred lines
Traced by inspiration, shines.

Then, another Mary sought
Her beloved Master,
Where he "sat at meat ; " and brought,
Sealed in alabaster,
Costly ointment for his head ;
Brake the box, and o'er him shed
Precious odors, like a cloud
Rising, while to him she bowed.

Still on earth she ever lives,
Young in sacred story ;
Whilst on high to Christ she gives
Endless praise and glory.
Here she "sat at Jesus' feet,"
Listening to his precepts sweet ;
Now she stands with hosts above,
Singing his redeeming love.

Near the cross, when Jesus bled.
Stood the Marys, weeping ;
Earliest to his tomb they sped,
Where they thought him sleeping.
When he left his couch of stone,
He to Mary first was shown ;
" MARY ; was the primal word
From the risen Savior heard.

While arose that Sabbath sun
Robed in new-made splendor,
Mary was his chosen one,
First account to render
First his sorrowing friends to tell
Of the Light of Israel
Showing Death's domain destroyed,
And the grave a final void !

Mary mine, so young and fair,
Full of warm affection,
Hence from sin and worldly snare
Wouldst thou sure protection ?
Guard the beauty of thy name
By their graces whence it came :
Early taught of Jesus be,
Like the maid of Bethany.

Choose, like her, " that better part ;"
Let thine action show it !
If to Christ we give our heart,
Earth, like Heaven, must know it.
He hath many lovely ways,
Through the child, to perfect praise :
Thou, at least, canst speak and pray
For the heathens far away.

He will bless thy feeblest aim
Like that other Mary
Life to publish in his name,
Though the means may vary.
Little self-denials, made
Offerings at his altar laid,
On some heathen isle or shore.
May reward thee evermore.