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THE MOURNFUL MOTHER
Which, in his life's first springing,
Sang to him all night long,—
And wishes it beside him,
With kissing lips that cool
And soft did overglide him,—
To make the sweetness full.
Look up, O mournful mother;
Thy blind boy walks in light!
Ye wait for one another,
Before God's infinite!
But thou art now the darkest,
Thou mother left below—
Thou, the sole blind,—thou markest,
Content that it be so;—
Until ye two give meeting
Where the great Heaven-gate is,
And he shall lead thy feet in,
As once thou leddest his!
Wait on, thou mournful mother.
Sang to him all night long,—
And wishes it beside him,
With kissing lips that cool
And soft did overglide him,—
To make the sweetness full.
Look up, O mournful mother;
Thy blind boy walks in light!
Ye wait for one another,
Before God's infinite!
But thou art now the darkest,
Thou mother left below—
Thou, the sole blind,—thou markest,
Content that it be so;—
Until ye two give meeting
Where the great Heaven-gate is,
And he shall lead thy feet in,
As once thou leddest his!
Wait on, thou mournful mother.
