Poems (Acton)/The Farewell of the Unloved
THE FAREWELL OF THE UNLOVED.
Come nearer to my side, Mother,
There's a dimness in my eye,
There's a weight upon my heart, Mother,
I feel that I shall die.
But ere the hand of death, Mother,
Is laid upon my brow,
Come nearer to my side, Mother,
I've much to tell thee now.
I've been a slighted child, Mother,
Yet have I loved thee well,
And the prayers I've breathed for thee, Mother.
Arc more than I can tell.
I've been a slighted child, Mother,
And fond and kindly word,
And tones that soothe the soul, Mother,
My car hath never heard.
I've prayed upon my knees, Mother,
In sorrow night and day,
That the coldness of thy heart, Mother,
Might sometime pass away.
I've prayed upon my knees, Mother,
That I might come to be,
As treasured and as dear, Mother,
As my sister is to thee.
But ah! 'twas all in vain, Mother,
I strove thy will to do,
I would I had been fair, Mother,
That thou hadst loved me too.
I've laid upon my bed, Mother,
When others thought I slept;
Through the long and weary night, Mother,
My lonely watch I've kept.
To hear thy well-known step, Mother.
And see thee fondly press
On my sister's sleeping brow, Mother.
A kiss of tenderness.
But ah! no kiss was mine, Mother,
No blessing came to me,
I've wept till daylight dawned, Mother,
For I was nought to thee!
Yet now so near my grave, Mother.
One wish my heart doth fill,
One pray'r upon my lip, Mother,
Doth hang unuttered still.
Soon must I bend to death, Mother,
Yet while I linger on,
Let the sunshine of thy love, Mother,
Be turned thy child upon.
For I could not seek my grave, Mother,
Without a parting word,
To tell me ere we part, Mother,
How thy slighted child has erred!
Oh! is it that thine eyes, Mother,
Are fondly bent on mine?
Oh! is it that my hand, Mother,
Is wildly clasped in thine?
Oh! is it that thy voice, Mother,
Falls kindly on mine ear?
My heart will break with joy, Mother,
Those cherished tones to hear!
Oh! mourn not that I die, Mother,
That heart would sink with care,
If I should seek thy face, Mother,
And find a shadow there.
Thy treasured smiles of love, Mother,
Around me now have played;
I fain would pass away, Mother,
Before those smiles can fade.
My eye is growing dim, Mother,
My heart is growing cold,
My life is ebbing fast, Mother,
My earthly days are told.
Thus! thus! to hold thy hand, Mother,
Will still my latest pain—
Smile on me ere I die, Mother,
Oh! may we meet again!
H. A.
There's a dimness in my eye,
There's a weight upon my heart, Mother,
I feel that I shall die.
But ere the hand of death, Mother,
Is laid upon my brow,
Come nearer to my side, Mother,
I've much to tell thee now.
I've been a slighted child, Mother,
Yet have I loved thee well,
And the prayers I've breathed for thee, Mother.
Arc more than I can tell.
I've been a slighted child, Mother,
And fond and kindly word,
And tones that soothe the soul, Mother,
My car hath never heard.
I've prayed upon my knees, Mother,
In sorrow night and day,
That the coldness of thy heart, Mother,
Might sometime pass away.
I've prayed upon my knees, Mother,
That I might come to be,
As treasured and as dear, Mother,
As my sister is to thee.
But ah! 'twas all in vain, Mother,
I strove thy will to do,
I would I had been fair, Mother,
That thou hadst loved me too.
I've laid upon my bed, Mother,
When others thought I slept;
Through the long and weary night, Mother,
My lonely watch I've kept.
To hear thy well-known step, Mother.
And see thee fondly press
On my sister's sleeping brow, Mother.
A kiss of tenderness.
But ah! no kiss was mine, Mother,
No blessing came to me,
I've wept till daylight dawned, Mother,
For I was nought to thee!
Yet now so near my grave, Mother.
One wish my heart doth fill,
One pray'r upon my lip, Mother,
Doth hang unuttered still.
Soon must I bend to death, Mother,
Yet while I linger on,
Let the sunshine of thy love, Mother,
Be turned thy child upon.
For I could not seek my grave, Mother,
Without a parting word,
To tell me ere we part, Mother,
How thy slighted child has erred!
Oh! is it that thine eyes, Mother,
Are fondly bent on mine?
Oh! is it that my hand, Mother,
Is wildly clasped in thine?
Oh! is it that thy voice, Mother,
Falls kindly on mine ear?
My heart will break with joy, Mother,
Those cherished tones to hear!
Oh! mourn not that I die, Mother,
That heart would sink with care,
If I should seek thy face, Mother,
And find a shadow there.
Thy treasured smiles of love, Mother,
Around me now have played;
I fain would pass away, Mother,
Before those smiles can fade.
My eye is growing dim, Mother,
My heart is growing cold,
My life is ebbing fast, Mother,
My earthly days are told.
Thus! thus! to hold thy hand, Mother,
Will still my latest pain—
Smile on me ere I die, Mother,
Oh! may we meet again!
H. A.