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the dying boy.
Of patient suffering in her pallid face,
For she had struggled earnestly, till faith
Could spread its eagle pinions and soar up,
From the cold bed where she must lay her boy,
To his bright spirit-home. Oh, only they
Who with a mother's speechless agony,
Have watched the life-blood ebb, and the young cheek
Grow pale; counted each feeble pulse, and seen
The full round limbs shrink in undue proportion—
Only they, can tell a mother's sorrow,
And may own, how hard to bow submissively,
And say, "Thy will be done."
For she had struggled earnestly, till faith
Could spread its eagle pinions and soar up,
From the cold bed where she must lay her boy,
To his bright spirit-home. Oh, only they
Who with a mother's speechless agony,
Have watched the life-blood ebb, and the young cheek
Grow pale; counted each feeble pulse, and seen
The full round limbs shrink in undue proportion—
Only they, can tell a mother's sorrow,
And may own, how hard to bow submissively,
And say, "Thy will be done."
Hush! he is waking,
The dim eyes re-open, and the white lips,
Long sealed as though in death, find utterance.
She had thought he slept, but when he turned
Those soft dark orbs to hers, she saw that tears
Were on their silken fringe, and o'er his face
Passed a deep shade of gloom. "Mother," he said,
And the faint tones were tremulous with grief,
"Mother, I know how soon the time will come
When I must die; and as I lay but now,
The dim eyes re-open, and the white lips,
Long sealed as though in death, find utterance.
She had thought he slept, but when he turned
Those soft dark orbs to hers, she saw that tears
Were on their silken fringe, and o'er his face
Passed a deep shade of gloom. "Mother," he said,
And the faint tones were tremulous with grief,
"Mother, I know how soon the time will come
When I must die; and as I lay but now,
