« AnteriorContinuar »
Her babe was in her
agony Was all forgot, for bliss of loving thee.
Be gentle to thy mother; long she bore
Thine infant fretfulness and silly youth; Nor rudely scorn the faithful voice that o'er Thy cradle pray'd, and taught thy lisp
ings truth. Yes, she is old; yet on thine adult brow She looks, and claims thee as her child e'en
Uphold thy mother; close to her warm heart
She carried, fed thee, lull'd thee to thy
Then taught thy tottering limbs their un
tried art, Exulting in the fledging from her nest; And now her steps are feeble, by her stay, Whose strength was thine in thy most feeble
Cherish thy mother; brief perchance the
time May be that she will claim the care she
gave; Past are her hopes of youth, her harvest
prime Of joy on earth ; her friends are in the grave;
But for her children, she could lay her head
Gladly to rest among her precious dead.
Be tender with thy mother; words unkind, Or light neglect from thee, will give a
pang To that fond bosom, where thou art en
shrined In love unutterable, more than fang Of venom'd serpent. Wound not that strong
trust As thou wouldst hope for peace when she is
O mother mine! God grant I ne'er forget,
Whatever be my grief, or what my joy, The unmeasured, inextinguishable debt I owe thy love; but make my sweet em
ploy Ever through thy remaining days to be To thee as faithful, as thou wert to me.
NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP
“ Now I lay me down to sleep:
Many years since then have fled ;
She gently taught me how to say,
pray the Lord my soul to keep."
Oh! could the faith of childhood's days
with childlike faith once more The prayer my mother taught of yore, “ Now I lay me down to sleep: I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
Eugene Henry Pullen
Just when each bud was big with bloom,
And as prophetic of perfume, When spring, with her bright horoscope, Was sweet as an unuttered hope;
Just when the last star flickered out,
And twilight, like a soul in doubt, Hovered between the dark and dawn,
And day lay waiting to be born;
Just when the gray and dewy air
Grew sacred as an unvoiced prayer, And somewhere through the dusk she heard
The stirring of a nested bird,
Four angels glorified the place :
Wan Pain unveiled her awful face;
Peace laid upon her breast a child.
HUNDREDS of stars in the pretty sky;
Hundreds of shells on the shore together; Hundreds of birds that go singing by;
Hundreds of bees in the sunny weather.
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn;
Hundreds of lambs in the purple clover; Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn; But only one mother the wide world over.
George Cooper " THE OLD FACE OF THE MOTHER
OF MANY CHILDREN"
The old face of the mother of many children, Whist! I am fully content.
Lulld and late is the smoke of the First-day
morning, It hangs low over the rows of trees by the
fences, It hangs thin by the sassafras and wild
cherry and cat-brier under them.
I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the
soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so
long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from
the white froth and the Water-blue.
Behold a woman !
is clearer and more beautiful than the
She sits in an armchair under the shaded
porch of the farmhouse, The sun just shines on her old white head.