Page:Poems Smith.djvu/34

That I may bear my burthen,
 And feel it's for the best:
Perhaps some day the angels
 Will take me home to rest,

I oft times feel so weary,
 And then I bow my head,
And ask, "How long, my Saviour,
 Ere I'm number'd with the dead?"

Oh, mother, dearest mother,
 The tears that I have shed,
Would make a little fountain,
 Since you've lain in your cold bed.

I do so miss you, mother;
 You were my joy and love;
Now you have gone and left me,
 To rest in Heaven above.

I try to live so meekly,
 And strive to bear my cross,
While I am journeying onward,
 And on life's billows toss.

Each day my sorrows deepen,
 While struggling to be free:
I sometimes cry in anguish—
 "Oh, mother, come to me!"