"It fell on a day, that he went out to his father to the reapers. And he said unto his father, My head, my head. And he said to a lad, Carry him to his mother. And . . . he sat on her knees till noon, and then died. And she went up, and laid him on the bed. . . . And shut the door upon him and went out." Immortal story that no mother`s heart Ev`n yet can read, nor feel the biting pain That rent her soul! Immortal not by art Which makes a long past sorrow sting again Like grief of yesterday: but since it said In simplest word the truth which all may see, Where any mother sobs above her dead And plays anew the silent tragedy.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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