Only a name; but a mother's hand
Writes not in perishing faithless sand:
Back from the vault of long-buried years,
Rise memories far too deep for tears.
Only a name; but 'tis writ in gold,
For the hand that fashioned the word is cold:
Spell-bound on the writing the eyes will fall,
As the Persian gazed on the warning wall.
Yet the gaze shall leave nothing of doubt or dread,
It appeals to the heart with a voice from the dead,
And the dear loved characters stand to prove
A truth never doubted, a mother's love.
Such love as she might to a creature of earth,
She gave to her child when she gave him birth;
And, perchance, from the bright spirit-world her eye
Still marks how he moulds his destiny.
Yea, hushes her harp and with bated breath
Prays while he wavers 'twixt life and death;
And if tears from the earth could dim angels' eyes,
Hers are his griefs with his victories.
