Poems (Browning)/Mother—The Song

by Eunice Browning

Mother
The Song

The organist begins his theme— He strikes the essence of his dream,A single, pealing, throbbing note; Then slowly, as a singing flute,The thought mounts forth to higher plane— We hear the symphony begun;The music swells in deeper tone, The dream is ever leading onTo greater depths of harmony, And clearer, sweeter melody;At last the promise is fulfilled, The song is mute, the organ stilled.

Mother,  Whose face to me the rising sun That glad bespeaks each day begun;  Whose rays of cheer the days unfold As tender blossoms on the wold;  Your light of love beams ever true, That shines upon each day anew,Mother.

Mother,  Whose soul to me a glowing star That through earth's clouds shines on afar;  No more can we stars distance space Than Mother's loving heart replace  With earthly wealth of human love; Your soul is from the Great Above,Mother.