Poems (Freston)/The Hero's Mother

by Elizabeth Heléne Freston

THE HERO'S MOTHER

Let other women kneel before
 The shrine of martial glory,
And blazon forth the hero's deeds
 In thrilling song or story!
The task of wearing laurel wreaths
 I'll gladly leave to others;
For me, I'd rather sing my song
 About the heroes' mothers.

The soldier dashes in the fray,
 With love and fame before him,
While she is left alone to pray,
 That angels may watch o'er him,
His courage feels the spur of pride,
 Cheered on by friend and brother,
Grander is hers, though undescried,—
 The courage of the mother.

The mother's hand, whate'er lt be,—
 Soft, smooth, toil-stained, or horny,—
Has led the way to liberty,
 Through pathways rough and thorny.
She has bound on the trusty sword,
 While striving sobs to smother,—
Let others beg the hero's kiss,
 I'd rather kiss his mother.

If he had failed and won no crown,
 If fame had passed him over,
If on the scroll of names renowned,
 The stars and stripes float over,
He found no place but gave his life
 For right like many another,
He still had been a hero bright,
 In the sad heart of his mother.

How brief the time since that wild cry
 Of War! set pulses thrilling,
And yet, how many daring deeds
 Are history's pages filling!
Now all the world stands still to gaze,
 On this young country's glory;
No brutal deed has dimmed its blaze,
 No traitor marred its story,

And lo! beyond the murky haze,
 Of suffering, death and sorrow,
Sweet Peace uplifts her starry gaze,
 And Hope points to the morrow.
And when our boys come home again,
 To greet the ocean rovers,
Will gather, full of love and joy,
 The sweethearts, wives and mothers.

But, oh! the dear unfamous ones,
 Asleep at Santiago!
They'll hear nor heed the shouts of joy
 That greet their comrades! Ah no!
When home again the 71st,
 And Teddy's boys and others,
Come for their due, before we cheer.
 Think of the mourning mothers.