MOTHER, with whom our lives should be, br Not hatred keeps our lives apart: br Charmed by some lesser glow in thee, br Our hearts beat not within thy heart. br br br Beauty, the face, the touch, the eyes, br Prophets of thee, allure our sight br From that unfathomed deep where lies br Thine ancient loveliness and light. br br br Self-found at last, the joy that springs br Being thyself, shall once again br Start thee upon the whirling rings br And through the pilgrimage of pain.