Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies dead

Her new-born Babe; dire ending of bright hope!

But Sculpture here, with the divinest scope

Of luminous faith, heavenward hath raised that head

So patiently; and through one hand has spread

A touch so tender for the insensate Child

(Earth's lingering love to parting reconciled,

Brief parting, for the spirit is all but fled)

That we, who contemplate the turns of life

Through this still medium, are consoled and cheered;

Feel with the Mother, think the severed Wife

Is less to be lamented than revered;

And own that Art, triumphant over strife

And pain, hath powers to Eternity endeared.