The Mother
Out of the bitter, the sweet;
Out of the pain, the joy;
Out of the mists, the morning star;
Out of my travail, my boy.
Out of old flesh, new flesh;
Out of old bone, new bone;
Out of my side, my treasure and pride;
My breast his earliest throne.
Stiff in the trenches, and stark;
Dead 'ere the battle was won;
For that which is Right, for Love and Light,
Freely I gave my son.
After the bitter, the sweet;
After the pain, the joy—
I will not falter, nor flinch, nor faint;
Proudly I give my boy.
