When Mary hushed her Son to sleep
Beneath the trees at even fall --
The dusky cedars used to keep
Green watch and ward above it all.
And all that hour was filled with grace,
And every flower looked up with joy
To see the light on Mary's face
While crooning to the drowsy Boy.
But ere the stars are blossom-white
In fields of heaven, one sad, closed flower
('Tis said) crept by her garments bright
And caught their color from that hour --
The holy blue of Mary's gown;
And, sad no more, to morning skies
Flung forth triumphant, over-blown
With all the blues of Paradise,
The morning glory, still to keep
Her blossoming mantle mystical,
Though thrones have crumbled in a heap,
And into dust those idols all....
Since Mary hushed her Son to sleep
Beneath the trees at even-fall.
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 10 December 1929
