Poems (Griffith)/My Mother
For works with similar titles, see My Mother.
My Mother.
MY dear, lost mother, it is midnight now, The sky is dark and starless, and the earth Seems bound as with a spell of silence. All Around is still and pulseless as the heart Whence life has fled for ever. At this hour, When in my listenings I can hear no sound, Save the low earnest voice of my own soul Calling in grief to Heaven, I would invoke Thy spirit from its blessed home, to hold Communion with thy child.
My thought retains No vestige, mother, of thy form or face—Death took thee from me long ere memory Could paint the image of thy loveliness Upon my infant soul. Yet many friends Have told me thou wast beautiful beyond The poet's twilight imaging. They say That thy fair, blue-veined forehead nestled 'mid The dark brown clusters of thy tresses, like The spirit of sweet purity among The clouds of earthly gloom; that thy black eye, Calm, proud, and beautiful, beamed with the pure High visions of thy soul, as midnight waves Gleam with the flashing star-beams; that thy cheek, For ever living with the blended hues Of rose and lily, seemed to glow with more Than earthly beauty; and that thy red lips Took added witcheries from the beaming smiles, And from the tones of gentle melody That ever hung around them. Ay, I've heard Full oft of thy entrancing charms, and mused In silence on them till my soul has sketched A picture of surpassing loveliness, And fondly named it thee; and oh I feel I could for ever kneel and worship it In wild excess of love. I do not know That e'er I heard thy voice, yet in, my brain There is a soft mysterious melody Far sweeter than the sweetest sound of earth And I have dreamed it is thy gentle tone Breathed in mine ear in early infancy And lingering faintly still.
My mother dear, When the high mandate came that bade thee take Farewell of this dark earth, and seek thy home Of immortality beyond the stars, Oh did no feeling of regret arise Within thy pure and parting soul? Hadst thou No torturing fears, sweet mother, for thy child Whom thou wast leaving in her helpless years Amid a world of sin? Hadst thou no dread Lest her young feet should wander from the paths Of truth, when she should hear no voice of thine To warn her of her perils? Mother, now That child is weary of life's pilgrimage,Her spirit is oppressed on this dark shore Of time; the burden of existence falls Upon a heart too weak and faint to bear Its cares and agonies; and oh, she longs To come to thee, and weep away her griefs Upon thy sainted bosom. Be the first, Oh mother, be the first to catch the sound Of her young footsteps through the shadowy vale Of death, and clasp her in thy blessed arms In thy own Eden.
Mother, from thy home Above, look down in pity on thy child, Thy lonely orphan wanderer. Shelter her With thy angelic wing in her sad stay Upon the earth; breathe strength from thy high soul Into her soul; oh speak to her in dreams, When sleep has rent her earthly fetters; tell Her spirit of the bright, the better land; And keep her heart in all its wanderings pure From the dark stains of this mortality.
Louisville, Oct 25.