86
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER.
The mother's face! it is pale with, care,
Though lighted with smiles, such as mothers wear;
Though sickly the hue which is on the brow,
The eye beams with love and with joy below.
There 's a hope and a trust in that mother's heart,
She does not dream of the horn- to part.
Though lighted with smiles, such as mothers wear;
Though sickly the hue which is on the brow,
The eye beams with love and with joy below.
There 's a hope and a trust in that mother's heart,
She does not dream of the horn- to part.
And now she has bended her knee to pray,
While sickness is wasting her life away;
Her hands are folded in fervent love.
Her spirit's desire is borne above;
Oh! not for herself those pleadings deep—
For the health of her child in his rosy sleep.
While sickness is wasting her life away;
Her hands are folded in fervent love.
Her spirit's desire is borne above;
Oh! not for herself those pleadings deep—
For the health of her child in his rosy sleep.
For him with the light and sunny face,
Which daily ripens in bloom and grace:
Oh! her dreams are all of his future years,
She fancies his griefs with a mother's fears;
And yet at his smile sweet visions play,
To chase all those sadder thoughts away.
Which daily ripens in bloom and grace:
Oh! her dreams are all of his future years,
She fancies his griefs with a mother's fears;
And yet at his smile sweet visions play,
To chase all those sadder thoughts away.
