Attack: Mary, where is thy Lord?
Where now are all those precious promises,
Those drops of dew which satisfied thy fainting heart
And gave thee hope? But what is hope that still
Remains as hope? What kind of hope is that
Which yields the fruit of unfulfilled promises?
Has not the deadly coldness of the tomb
Now and for ever quenched that heart of love?
Mary, where is thy Lord?
Where is the One who formed the mountains great,
The raging torrents: all obedient to His word?
Who, even while He lived upon this earth,
Stood on the waters at the Sea of Galilee; who stretched
His hand o’er the tempestuous deep and there was calm?
Is’t that He cannot heal thy troubled waters?
Cannot say to thy soul, “Peace, be still”?
Mary, where is thy Lord?
Ah, now you weep. Is not each tear brim-full
Of hopelessness, the hopelessness of death? Oh, how
The depths of hell rejoiced when I, the leader
Of the hosts of darkest night, led forth
My bands. How we rejoiced to swoop upon that One
Forsaken of His friends, despised and mocked,
And lay him prostrate, helpless, on the cross.
Mary, where is thy Lord?
Once, Mary, seven devils filled thy heart;
They gave thee neither room for peace nor yet for hope.
And in that place of weeping, where the gates
Are shut on love and joy to all eternity,
For ever shall I starve thy soul. Then sev’n times seven spirits
Shall so plague thy weary heart that thou
Shalt cry, “Lost, lost, for ever lost!”
Defence.
Mary, why dost thou weep?
Mary, whom dost thou seek? “My Lord, my God!”
How long hath tempest raged within my breast? How long
Has this Apolyon poured down his envy
And his malice on my soul? And I
Could nought reply. Now THOU, the blessed One, art come
And he has fled before Thy face as darkness
Flees before the gentle light of dawn.
Victory.
Mary, where is thy Lord?
My Lord has passed beyond the realms of men;
His all-seeing eyes survey the nations in a glance.
And what a joy thrills through His tender heart
When a poor sinner, worn by poverty and need,
Finds in His breast repose—an everlasting rest.
There, also, in my weakness find, I hope,
He ever lives; and therefore I shall live.
—S. F. T.