THREE LITTLE MARYS.
VERY early Easter morning,
While the city streets were still,
And the birds in St. Mark's maples
Waited with their songs until
Some strong, happy singer, singing
In the church at dawn, was through—
Lightly stepping up the churchyard,
Came the little Marys two;
Each in pretty Easter bonnet,
Each in pretty Easter gown,
And the little arms with lilies—
Pure white lilies—loaded down.
Slow along the silent pavement,
Soft across the churchyard grass,
And a-listening to the Gloria,
Came another little lass,
With no pretty Easter bonnet,
With no pretty Easter gown,
And no lily, but some early
Grass-blades held all shyly down;
Yet she crossed the soft green churchyard
(And her name was Mary too),
And the great church-doors swung open,
And the Marys three went through.
Like the tender, Jewish Marys
Going to the garden tomb,
With their flowers to the altar
Passed they down the golden gloom,
Till the little dainty Marys
In the pretty Easter gowns
Stood and chose and chose the places
For the crosses and the crowns;
Then the other little Mary,
Bending in her faded gown,
Underneath a wealth of Bowers
Laid the wayside grasses down.
Hastily were white hands lifted;
"That," cried curling lips, "with these!"
Gently little Mary murmured,
"None will see it—let me, please!"
Sweet, because they leave the grass-blades,
Though they take their way with frowns,
Sweet she thinks those little Marys
In the pretty Easter gowns;
But the giver of the grasses,
Although priceless lilies be,
Was the only little Mary
Who the Easter Christ did see.
—Ella F. Pratt