Mother, do not weep.
I have been your child, and am;
Your arms, my ever cradle,
Your song, my calm and voice.
The sun, the sun that sets your eyes
Is darkened by these tears.
Mother, do not weep.
I have known your scent
And you mine—
My walk, my every step;
All my love I have found in you,
Your heart from before my birth
My heart, my ear, my love.
Mother, do not weep for me.
Take the moon and sun,
The stars and all the nursery
In which you raised me up to mine:
Set them beneath your feet—
Stand tall.
Let not fear entwine
Its viper’s breath amongst your toes.
Do not, do not weep.
If tears must fall, let them be sweet
And sweeten the ground
Where I rest.
Mother, I rest
And make my work.
Weep not for my sleeping.
The night be black,
Yet sleep is but for the instant,
The moment, and day will come.
The day your love has wrought
Will come.
Mother, do not weep.

 

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This poem was written by Timothy Jeffries Johnson, an Orthodox poet in the United Kingdom, on 15th October 2009. It has been published on Monachos.net for Holy Week 2011 with the author's permission.

This poem is a reflection on the imagery of the Ninth Ode of the Matins Canon for Great and Holy Saturday, in which the following troparia are found:

"Weep not for me, O Mother, beholding in the sepulcher the Son whom thou hast conceived without seed in thy womb. For I shall rise and shall be glorified, and as God I shall exalt in everlasting glory those who magnify thee with faith and love.

"O Son without beginning, in ways surpassing nature was I blessed at Thy strange birth, for I was spared all travail. But now beholding Thee, my God, a lifeless corpse, I am pierced by the sword of bitter sorrow. But arise, that I may be magnified.

"By mine own will the earth covers me, O Mother, but the gatekeepers of hell tremble as they see me, clothed in the bloodstained garment of vengeance: for on the Cross as God have I struck down mine enemies, and I shall rise again and magnify thee.

"Let the creation rejoice exceedingly, let all those born on earth be glad: for hell, the enemy, has been despoiled. Ye women, come to meet me with sweet spices: for I am delivering Adam and Eve with all their offspring, and on the third day I shall rise again." (9th Ode of the Canon, Great Holy Saturday)