A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/A Mother Understands
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A MOTHER UNDERSTANDS
DEAR Lord, I hold my hand to take
Thy Body, broken once for me,
Accept the Sacrifice I make,
My Body, broken, Christ, for Thee.
His was my body, born of me,
Born of my bitter travail pain,
And it lies broken on the field,
Swept by the wind and the rain.
Surely a Mother understands Thy thorn-crowned head,
The mystery of Thy piercèd hands—the Broken Bread.