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410 MARIA LOWELL.

JESUS AND THE DOVE.

With patient hand Jesus in clay once wrought,
And made a snowy dove that upward flew. 
Dear child, from all things draw some holy thought, That, like his dove, they may fly upward too.

MARY, the mother good and mild, 
Went forth one summer's day,
That Jesus and his comrades all 
In meadows green might play.

To find the brightest, freshest flowers,
They search the meadows round,
They twined them all into a wreath
And little Jesus crown'd.

Weary with play, they came at last 
And sat at Mary's feet,
While Jesus ask'd his mother dear
A story to repeat.

"And we," said one, "from out this clay
Will make some little birds;
So shall we all sit quietly,
And heed the mother's words."

Then Mary, in her gentle voice,
Told of a little child
Who lost her way one dark, dark night,
Upon a dreary wild;

And how an angel came to her,
And made all bright around,
And took the trembling little one
From off the damp, hard ground;

MARIA LOWELL 411

And how he bore her in his arms
Up to the blue so far,
And how he laid her fast asleep,
Down in a silver star.

The children sit at Mary's feet,
But not a word they say,
So busily their fingers work 
To mould the birds of clay.

But now the clay that Jesus held, 
And turn'd unto the light, 
And moulded with a patient touch, 
Changed to a perfect white.

And slowly grew within his hands 
A fair and gentle dove, 
Whose eyes unclose, whose wings unfold 
Beneath his look of love.

The children drop their birds of clay,
And by his side they stand, 
To look upon the wondrous dove
He holds within his hand.

And when he bends and softly breathes,
Wide are the wings outspread;
And when he bends and breathes again,
It hovers round his head.

Slowly it rises in the air
Before their eager eyes, 
And, with a white and steady wing, 
Higher and higher flies.

The children all stretch forth their arms 
As if to draw it down:
"Dear Jesus made the little dove 
From out the clay so brown–

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 18:30:52