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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454831" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Mother In Egypt</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'About midnight will I go out into the midst of Egypt: and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sitteth upon the throne, even unto the firstborn of the maid-servant that is behind the mill.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IS the noise of grief in the palace over the river<br>For this silent one at my side?<br>There came a hush in the night, and he rose with his hands a-quiver<br>Like lotus petals adrift on the swing of the tide.<br>O small soft hands, the day groweth old for sleeping!<br>O small still feet, rise up, for the hour is late!<br>Rise up, my son, for I hear them mourning and weeping<br>In the temple down by the gate. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hushed is the face that was wont to brighten with laughter<br>When I sang at the mill,<br>And silence unbroken shall greet the sorrowful dawns hereafter,<br>The house shall be still.<br>Voice after voice takes up the burden of wailing,–<br>Do you heed, do you hear ?–in the high-priest's house by the wall;<br>But mine is the grief, and their sorrow is all unavailing.<br>Will he wake at their call ? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Something I saw of the broad, dim wings half folding<br>The passionless brow.<br>Something I saw of the sword the shadowy hands were holding,–<br>What matters it now?<br>I held you close, dear face, as I knelt and harkened<br>To the wind that cried last night like a soul in sin,<br>When the broad, bright stars dropped down and the soft sky darkened,<br>And the Presence moved therein. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have heard men speak in the market-place of the city,<br>Low voiced, in a breath,<br>Of a god who is stronger than ours, and who knows not changing nor pity,<br>Whose anger is death.<br>Nothing I know of the lords of the outland races,<br>But Amun is gentle and Hathor the Mother is mild,<br>And who would descend from the light of the peaceful places<br>To war on a child? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet here he lies, with a scarlet pomegranate petal<br>Blown down on his cheek.<br>The slow sun sinks to the sand like a shield of some burnished metal,<br>But he does not speak.<br>I have called, I have sung, but he neither will hear nor waken;<br>So lightly, so whitely he lies in the curve of my arm,<br>Like a feather let fall from the bird that the arrow hath taken.<br>Who could see him, and harm? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The swallow flies home to her sleep in the eaves of the altar,<br>And the crane to her nest,'–<br>So do we sing o'er the mill, and why, ah, why should I falter,<br>Since he goes to his rest?<br>Does he play in their flowers as he played among these with his mother?<br>Do the gods smile downward and love him and give him their care?<br>Guard him well, O ye gods, till I come; lest the wrath of that Other<br>Should reach to him there!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Marjorie+Lowry+Christie+Pickthall">Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454831" data-title="A Mother In Egypt de Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall" data-description="'About midnight will I go out into the midst of Egypt: and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sitteth upon the throne, even unto the firstborn of the maid-servant that is behind the mill.' 


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