MY MOTHER'S BIBLE This book is all that's left me now, Tears will unbidden start, With faltering lip and throbbing brow I press it to my heart. For many generations past, Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped, She, dying, gave it me. Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear; Who round the hearthstone used to close, After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still! My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters, dear; How calm was my poor mother's look, Who loved God's word to hear! Her angel face, - I see it yet! What thronging memories come! Again that little group is met Within the halls of home! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried ; My counselor and guide. That could this volume buy; George Pope Morris TWO SONS I HAVE two sons, wife Two and yet the same; Bringing us to shame. fights across the sea, The other is a little child who sits upon your knee. a One is fierce and cold, wife, As the wayward deep; Him no breast could keep. a broken them; for he Is still the sinless little one that sits upon your knee. One may fall in fight, wife, Is he not our son ? For the wayward one; across the sea, Because you love the little shade who smiles upon your knee. One across the foam, wife, As I speak may fall; Cannot die at all. should we be, We cannot lose the darling son who sits upon your knee! Robert Buchanan MOTHER TO SON BEFORE I knew the love of man you When I grew up to woman's grace I saw you in your father's face, where no eye could see. Your hands were beating at my breast, you that life can give you pleasure Which is not my undying treasure ? Think you that life can give you shame ? love make no woman weep, Beloved, all my years belong Irene Rutherford McLeod ONE MOTHER MARY! I'm quite alone in all the world, Into such bright sharp pain of anguish hurled I cannot pray wise comfortable things; Death's plunged me deep in hell, and given me wings For terrible strange vastnesses; no hand In all this empty spirit-driven space; I stand Alone, and whimpering in my soul. I plod Among wild stars, and hide my face from God. |