MOTHER
"Your Mother's growing old," one said to me,
As friendlily we journeyed side by side;
Old! Old? The word hurt me most cruelly—
She is no older now, than when I cried
Out childish griefs upon her patient breast,
Or, when a woman, deeper things confest!
As friendlily we journeyed side by side;
Old! Old? The word hurt me most cruelly—
She is no older now, than when I cried
Out childish griefs upon her patient breast,
Or, when a woman, deeper things confest!
Why she was born to me, when I to her
Was born! With that relationship, the years,
Nor aught they bring, can ever interfere!
Old? Yes, but the same age today appears,
As when I looked the wants I could not speak;
Received the care I knew not how to seek.
Was born! With that relationship, the years,
Nor aught they bring, can ever interfere!
Old? Yes, but the same age today appears,
As when I looked the wants I could not speak;
Received the care I knew not how to seek.
The Mother-age is that which ages not;
Nor was she ever younger then, than now;
Her dear heart occupies the same old spot
'Round which the years, fast, but untouching, flow.
No, Mother never can more aged be,—
Timeless as God, my Mother is, to me!
Nor was she ever younger then, than now;
Her dear heart occupies the same old spot
'Round which the years, fast, but untouching, flow.
No, Mother never can more aged be,—
Timeless as God, my Mother is, to me!
She is my heart's one earthly home, alway;
And Love divine the holy Architect,
Who doth, himself, the sure foundations lay,
And with his chosen tools, doth it erect;—
Nor Earth nor Time has power to pull down
This unseen house which we together own!
And Love divine the holy Architect,
Who doth, himself, the sure foundations lay,
And with his chosen tools, doth it erect;—
Nor Earth nor Time has power to pull down
This unseen house which we together own!
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