In the busy years of Christ's ministry we do not read of his often
being with his mother Mary. He was going about the country preaching
and healing, and gave himself wholly to his mission. Yet we know that
the love between mother and son was constant and unchanging. From
beginning to end she always had confidence in his power, and his
tender care for her was among his last thoughts.

On the dreadful day of the Crucifixion, the mother was found standing
by the cross, with her sister and Mary Magdalene. "When Jesus
therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved
[that is, St. John], he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!
Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour
that disciple took her unto his own home."[14]

[Footnote 14: John, chapter xix. verses 26, 27.]

We can imagine the mother's anguish in seeing her son suffer this
cruel and ignominious death. He had lived only to do good, and now he
was dying an innocent sacrifice to his enemies. At such a moment the
mother might truly feel that a sword was piercing her soul, as the old
man Simeon[15] had once prophesied of her, many years before.

[Footnote 15: Luke, chapter ii. verse 35.]

"Wearied was her heart with grieving,
Worn her breast with sorrow heaving,
Through her soul the sword had passed.

"Ah! how sad and broken-hearted
Was that blessed mother, parted
From the God-begotten One!

"How her loving heart did languish
When she saw the mortal anguish
Which o'erwhelmed her peerless Son."[16]

[Footnote 16: From _Stabat Mater_.]

Time passed, and Jesus now being dead, his friends were permitted by
the governor to remove him from the cross. Joseph of Arimathea took
the lead, as he was to lay the body in a new sepulchre recently made
in his garden. Nicodemus was also there, bringing linen and spices for
the burial, and the loving women lingered to see these preparations.

We can imagine how they might all stand aside to make room for the
mother Mary. Perhaps, indeed, they would withdraw a little way to
leave her for a moment alone with her son. The years seem to melt
away, and again she gathers him in her lap as when he was a babe. All
the motherly tenderness which she has had long pent up in her heart
now overflows. If she has sometimes felt a little lonely that in his
manhood he no longer needed her care, she forgets it now. He is still
her child.

The marbl