Page:Poems Eaton.djvu/26

And when the dark hour comes, my boys,
 As it comes to all below,
And all earth's pleasant voices change
 To sadd'ning tones of woe,
And the fervent wish finds utterance,
 From deep within your breast,
Oh for dove's wings that I might flee
 Away and be at rest—

In that dark hour your mother's love
 Will burn a living flame,
Her prayers will rise, her hopes be strong,
 Her heart be aye the same—
Her arms that never yet repell'd
 Will open wide for ye,
Her eye can ne'er look coldly on
 Her children's agony.

Then trust her changeless love, my boys,
 And as ye feel its rays
Fall gently on ye, think of Him
 To whom is due all praise—
Who all our pleasures, all our joys,
 Our very life hath given—
Whose wisdom e'en our sorrows guides,
 And fitteth us for Heaven.