« AnteriorContinuar »
WHO fed me from her gentle breast, And hushed me in her arms to rest, And on my cheek sweet kisses pressed? My Mother.
When sleep forsook my open eye,
And rocked me that I should not cry?
Who sat and watched my infant head,
When pain and sickness made me cry, Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay, And taught me pretty how to play,
And minded all I had to say?
Who ran to help me when I fell,
Who taught my infant lips to pray, And love God's holy book and day, And walk in wisdom's Pleasant way? My Mother.
And can I ever cease to be,
Who was so very kind to me?
Ah! no, the thought I cannot bear, And if God please my life to spare, I hope I shall reward thy care,
When thou art feeble, old, and gray, My healthy arms shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My Mother.
And when I see thee hang thy head, 'T will be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed,
For God, who lives above the skies, Would look with vengeance in his eyes, If I should ever dare despise
I THOUGHT it was the little bed
I slept in long ago;
A straight white curtain at the head,
I thought I saw the nursery fire,
If I should make the slightest sound
She'd rise, and lap the blankets round,
Kiss me and turn my face to see.
The shadows on the wall,
And then sing "Rousseau's Dream" to
Till fast asleep I fall.
But this is not my little bed;
With strangers now I live instead,
From dreary day to day.
TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS
LOVE thy mother, little one!
Kiss and clasp her neck againHereafter she may have a son
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. Love thy mother, little one!
Gaze upon her living eyes,
And mirror back her love for thee,-
Press her lips the while they glow
With love that they have often told,Hereafter thou mayst press in woe,
And kiss them till thine own are cold. Press her lips the while they glow!
Oh, revere her raven hair!
Although it be not silver-gray
Too early Death, led on by Care,
Pray for her at eve and morn,
That Heaven may long the stroke defer ;For thou mayst live the hour forlorn
When thou wilt ask to die with her.
Pray for her at eve and morn!
RING-TING! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose blowing in the
The stooping boughs above me,
Nay-stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree, A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,
The sun and moonshine glance in,
The birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing!