Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Orphan Girl's Recollections of a Mother

The Orphan Girl's Recollections of a Mother.

I have no mother! for she died When I was very young;But still her memory round my heart, Like morning mists has hung.

They tell me of an angel form, That watched me while I slept,And of a soft and gentle hand That wiped the tears I wept:

And that same hand that held my own, When I began to walk,The joy that sparkled in her eyes When first I tried to talk.

They say the mother's heart is pleased When infant charms expand;I wonder if she thinks of me In that bright, happy land.

I know she is in heaven now, That holy place of rest;For she was always good to me— The good alone are blest.

I remember, too, when I was ill, She kissed my burning brow,The tear that fell upon my cheek— I think I feel it now.

And I have got some little books, She taught me how to spell;The chiding or the kiss she gave I still remember well.

And then she used to kneel with me, And teach me how to pray,And raise my little hands to heaven, And tell me what to say.

O mother, mother! in my heart Thy image still shall be,And I will hope in heaven at last, That I may meet with thee.