Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.

46. To One Consecrated

YOUR paths were all unknown to us:

We were so far away from you:

We mixed in thought your spirit thus—

With whiteness, stars of gold, and dew.

The Mighty Mother nourished you;

Her breath blew from her mystic bowers;

Their elfin glimmer floated through

The pureness of your shadowy hours.

The Mighty Mother made you wise,

Gave love that clears the hidden ways;

Her glooms were glory to your eyes,

Her darkness but the fount of days.

You with all gentleness she graced,

And beauty radiant as the morn’s:

She made our joy in yours, then placed

Upon your head a crown of thorns.

Your eyes are filled with tender light

For those whose eyes are dim with tears:

They see your brow is crowned and bright,

But not its ring of wounding spears.