Poems (Merrill)/The Songs My Mother Sung

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Ode to the Northern Lights

Poems
by Clara A. Merrill

The Songs My Mother Sung

In Memory of Appey M. Merrill

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4534850Poems — The Songs My Mother SungClara A. Merrill

THE SONGS MY MOTHER SUNG

(Dear Mother)

Round the homestead old I wandered, Slowly, and with silent tread; And at last I turned my footsteps To the chamber overhead. There, among the broken rubbish, Where the cobwebs thickly hung; Something sent my thoughts far backward To the songs my mother sung.

That old fashioned, wooden cradle Which I slept in when a child; As my mother sat beside me Singing ever low and mild. With her foot upon the rocker, To and fro the cradle swung; Peacefully I lay and listened To the songs my mother sung.

Long ago was that old cradle Banished to the dust and gloom 'Neath the dark and musty rafters Of that unused lumber room. Long had it remained forgotten,— Yet fond memory quickly sprung As I view'd the dear old relic— To the songs my mother sung.

Oft I've roamed in distant places, I have traveled far and wide; And I know the hours most care-free Were those spent by mother's side. While the bell of Time is tolling With its harsh unfeeling tongue; In my memory I shall cherish All the songs my mother sung.