'The soul is its own witness and its own refuge'

'The soul is its own witness and its own refuge'

Unto the deep the deep heart goes,

It lays its sadness nigh the breast:

Only the Mighty Mother knows

The wounds that quiver unconfessed.

It seeks a deeper silence still;

It folds itself around with peace,

Where thoughts alike of good or ill

In quietness unfostered cease.

It feels in the unwounding vast

For comfort for its hopes and fears:

The Mighty Mother bows at last;

She listens to her children's tears.

Where the last anguish deepens—there

The fire of beauty smites through pain:

A glory moves amid despair,

The Mother takes her child again.

 [30] 

[30]

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