the memorial pebbles.
93
"My Mother"—Could ten thousand words express
With deeper pathos, all the heart that bled—
What pure affection, worlds of deep distress,
Live in that tear-set tribute to the dead?
With deeper pathos, all the heart that bled—
What pure affection, worlds of deep distress,
Live in that tear-set tribute to the dead?
How vividly's pourtrayed, by fancy's wand,
The youthful mourner at this task of love;
What bitter tears fall as his trembling hand
The letters trace her pulseless breast above!
"My Mother!"—offering of a bursting heart,
O'er which the dear maternal love held sway:
Who from such sweet memorial could depart,
Nor bear a gush of mournful thought away.
The youthful mourner at this task of love;
What bitter tears fall as his trembling hand
The letters trace her pulseless breast above!
"My Mother!"—offering of a bursting heart,
O'er which the dear maternal love held sway:
Who from such sweet memorial could depart,
Nor bear a gush of mournful thought away.
And who was she, around whose lowly bed
A child's devotion scatters such a spell?
One who all loving and beloved was wed,
And bliss surrounded, bade the world farewell.
One who, in childhood, sported side by side
With a boy play-mate, through green mead and glen,
Who stood in after years the happy bride
Of her companion of that guileless then.
A child's devotion scatters such a spell?
One who all loving and beloved was wed,
And bliss surrounded, bade the world farewell.
One who, in childhood, sported side by side
With a boy play-mate, through green mead and glen,
Who stood in after years the happy bride
Of her companion of that guileless then.
One who, in happy wedlock's sunny days,
By her glad presence cheered the peaceful hearth,—
In every bosom whose endearing ways
Made images of all that's pure have birth.
Love's own sweet sanctuary was her home;
Her little ones, a band all life and joy;
Whilst hope gave promise of long years to come,
Fraught with each earthly bliss without alloy.
By her glad presence cheered the peaceful hearth,—
In every bosom whose endearing ways
Made images of all that's pure have birth.
Love's own sweet sanctuary was her home;
Her little ones, a band all life and joy;
Whilst hope gave promise of long years to come,
Fraught with each earthly bliss without alloy.
