Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems/Mother and Son
MOTHER AND SON
Thirty years ago two of my Catholic friends, fond parents, were called upon to endure a grievous tribulation in the death, by accidental drowning, of a noble virtuous son. I promised the father to write a poem on this sad theme, but, somehow, in the distraction of active secular journalism and the need of practical support for a growing family, I could not accomplish that purpose. A few days ago, with more leisure and a return of the long-neglected gift, I determined to pay the debt, and as some hearts may be comforted by sympathetic verse, I take the liberty of asking The Columbian to reproduce the poem, for the first time:
’Tis thirty years, my son,
Since we were parted;
Thy bright course swiftly run—
I, broken hearted,
Hast thou been gone so long
To realms of light,
To choirs of angel-song,
To visions bright?
When thou wert rapt away
By the stern tide,
I taught thee how to pray—
In innocence abide.
So, though thy call was brief,
With no good-bye,
I know, with firm belief,
’Twas well to die.
Thy piety and worth
Were all secure;
Yea, from thy Christian birth
Thy days were pure.
And so, the God of love
Claimed thee His own.
Thy spirit winged above
To seek its throne.
Father and mother both
Gave thee to bliss;
Resigned, however loath,
Thy parting kiss.
We learned to bless the hour
Thy soul should be
Beyond all sinful power
And grandly free.
Thy father saw thee first
In Christ’s abode;
His spirit was athirst
For Heaven’s road.
Thy mother will await
The last decree
That opens glory’s gate
To welcome thee.
To meet and see again
Thy sire and thee,
Beyond the reach of pain,
In ecstacy.
This is thy mother’s prayer,
And this her goal.
To love and bless thee there,
Soul unto soul.