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to my mother.
I would not, for all that the Future can bring me, Forget the dear hours when I sat at your feet, The song, that was sure of approval to sing thee, The look, that was always so loving to meet.
When I flew to your smile with each joyous emotion, But hid from your heart every sorrow I knew;—Oh! wayward perhaps was my childish devotion; But it ne'er for a moment was cold or untrue.
And still, when the chill wing of wo darkens o'er me, I am grateful its shadow extends not to thee; While if Praise thrill my heart or if joy smile before me, I sigh—"Could she know it, how glad she would be!"
Sweet mother! too fondly your darling you cherish'd, For me to forget you, wherever I go—Ah no: not till memory's power has perish'd; I love you too dearly to turn from you so!
