Poems (Eaton)/A Mother's Birth-Day Gift
A MOTHER'S BIRTH-DAY GIFT.
I MIND me of a time, my boys,
A pleasant time to me—
When you were infants in my arms
And sat upon my knee.
I watched you in your merry play,
I watched you in your sleep,
And feared that time would but destroy
My happiness so deep.
A pleasant time to me—
When you were infants in my arms
And sat upon my knee.
I watched you in your merry play,
I watched you in your sleep,
And feared that time would but destroy
My happiness so deep.
But each successive year that's past
Has left in you its sign,
And now the eldest numbers ten,
The other nearly nine—
And yet I know not which to choose,
The infant or the boy
With open brow and laughing eye,
Fearless and full of joy.
Has left in you its sign,
And now the eldest numbers ten,
The other nearly nine—
And yet I know not which to choose,
The infant or the boy
With open brow and laughing eye,
Fearless and full of joy.
Ye're very dear to me, my boys,
Ye're very dear to me,
There's nought so precious to my heart
As my home treasures be;
And I can cast all else aside,
And with Rome's matron say,
"These are my jewels," these alone—
God keep them bright alway!
Ye're very dear to me,
There's nought so precious to my heart
As my home treasures be;
And I can cast all else aside,
And with Rome's matron say,
"These are my jewels," these alone—
God keep them bright alway!
I would into the future look,
And see you grown as men—
Your childhood's sorrows, childhood's joys
Will ne'er return again;
But though earth's honors on you wait,
And wealth may be your own,
You'll look back on these happy days
And sigh that they are gone.
And see you grown as men—
Your childhood's sorrows, childhood's joys
Will ne'er return again;
But though earth's honors on you wait,
And wealth may be your own,
You'll look back on these happy days
And sigh that they are gone.
And when the dark hour comes, my boys,
As it comes to all below,
And all earth's pleasant voices change
To sadd'ning tones of woe,
And the fervent wish finds utterance,
From deep within your breast,
Oh for dove's wings that I might flee
Away and be at rest—
As it comes to all below,
And all earth's pleasant voices change
To sadd'ning tones of woe,
And the fervent wish finds utterance,
From deep within your breast,
Oh for dove's wings that I might flee
Away and be at rest—
In that dark hour your mother's love
Will burn a living flame,
Her prayers will rise, her hopes be strong,
Her heart be aye the same—
Her arms that never yet repell'd
Will open wide for ye,
Her eye can ne'er look coldly on
Her children's agony.
Will burn a living flame,
Her prayers will rise, her hopes be strong,
Her heart be aye the same—
Her arms that never yet repell'd
Will open wide for ye,
Her eye can ne'er look coldly on
Her children's agony.
Then trust her changeless love, my boys,
And as ye feel its rays
Fall gently on ye, think of Him
To whom is due all praise—
Who all our pleasures, all our joys,
Our very life hath given—
Whose wisdom e'en our sorrows guides,
And fitteth us for Heaven.
And as ye feel its rays
Fall gently on ye, think of Him
To whom is due all praise—
Who all our pleasures, all our joys,
Our very life hath given—
Whose wisdom e'en our sorrows guides,
And fitteth us for Heaven.
God's blessing rest upon ye both,
My merry-hearted sons,
And by His Spirit may ye say,
"Our Father's will be done"—
And be our lot through weal or woe
While here on earth we roam,
We'll be a happy family
When Christ shall lead us home.
My merry-hearted sons,
And by His Spirit may ye say,
"Our Father's will be done"—
And be our lot through weal or woe
While here on earth we roam,
We'll be a happy family
When Christ shall lead us home.