The Mother’s Lament at the Slaughter of the Innocents

Why are you tearing
Away to his doom
The child of my caring
The fruit of my womb
Till nine months were o’er
His burden I bore
Then his pretty lips pressed
The glad milk from my breast
And my whole heart he filled
And my whole life he thrilled

All my strength dies
My tongue speechless lies
Darkened are my eyes!
His breath was the breath of me
His death is the death of me.

But slay me, even me,
And let my boy be.
A mother’s most hapless
My bosom is sapless,
Mine eyes one tearful river,
My frame one fearful shiver,
My husband sonless ever,
And I a sonless wife
To live a death in life.