This of course rendered her incapable of perfect sympathy with other mothers.

It is a lovely invention, then, that he should thus commend mothers to his mother, telling her to judge of the pains of motherhood by those which she now endured.

Still he fails to turn aside her thoughts.

She is thinking still only of her own and her son's suffering, while he continues bent on making her think of others, until, at last, forth comes her prayer for all women.

This seems to me a tenderness grand as exquisite.
The outburst of the chorus of the Faithful in the last stanza but one,-- When he rose, then fell her sorrow, is as fine as anything I know in the region of the lyric.
"Stand well, mother, under rood;[1] _the cross._ Behold thy son with glade mood; _cheerful._ Blithe mother mayst thou be." "Son, how should I blithe stand?
I see thy feet, I see thy hand Nailed to the hard tree." "Mother, do way thy wepynde: _give over thy weeping._ I thole death for mankind-- _suffer._ For my guilt thole I none." "Son, I feel the dede stounde; _death-pang._ The sword is at my heart's ground _bottom._ That me byhet Simeon." _foreshowed._ "Mother, mercy! let me die, For Adam out of hell buy, _for to buy Adam._ And his kin that is forlore." _lost._ "Son, what shall me to rede ?[2] My pain paineth me to dede: _death._ Let me die thee before!" "Mother, thou rue all of thy bairn; _rue thou_; _all_ is only expletive Thou wash away the bloody tern; _wash thou; tears._ It doth me worse than my ded." _hurts me more; death._ "Son, how may I teres werne?
_turn aside tears._ I see the bloody streames erne _flow._ From thy heart to my fet." _feet._ "Mother, now I may thee seye, _say to thee._ Better is that I one deye _die._ Than all mankind to helle go." "Son, I see thy body byswongen, _lashed._ Feet and hands throughout stongen: _pierced through and through._ No wonder though me be woe." _woe be to me._ "Mother, now I shall thee tell, If I not die, thou goest to hell: I thole death for thy sake." _endure._ "Son, thou art so meek and mynde, _thoughtful._ Ne wyt me not, it is my kind[3] That I for thee this sorrow make." "Mother, now thou mayst well leren _learn._ What sorrow have that children beren, _they have; bear._ What sorrow it is with childe gon." _to go._ "Sorrow, I wis! I can thee tell! But it be the pain of hell _except._ More sorrow wot I none." "Mother, rue of mother-care, _take pity upon._ For now thou wost of mother-fare, _knowest._ Though thou be clean maiden mon."[4] "Sone, help at alle need Alle those that to me grede, _cry._ Maiden, wife, and full wymmon." _woman with child._ "Mother, may I no longer dwell; The time is come I shall to hell; The third day I rise upon." "Son, I will with thee founden; _set out, go._ I die, I wis, for thy wounden: So sorrowful death nes never none." _was not never none._ When he rose, then fell her sorrow; Her bliss sprung the third morrow: Blithe mother wert thou tho! _then._ Lady, for that ilke bliss, _same._ Beseech thy son of sunnes lisse: _for sin's release._ Thou be our shield against our foe.