[Poems by Hale in] The ladies' wreath a selection from the female poetic writers of England and America |
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THE AMULET. |
 | [Poems by Hale in] The ladies' wreath |  |
405
THE AMULET.
A few more years, my cherished one,
And these will soon be fled;
And where will then my little son
Repose his weary head?
Not on thy mother's faithful breast,
As thou hast done to-day;
The time of childhood's happy rest
Will then be passed away.
And these will soon be fled;
And where will then my little son
Repose his weary head?
Not on thy mother's faithful breast,
As thou hast done to-day;
The time of childhood's happy rest
Will then be passed away.
Thy childish pastimes will be o'er,
The hoop and ball thrown by,
And “mother” will be called no more
To teach the kite to fly:
A higher flight the world will speak,
To charm thy youthful heart;
And home's soft ties will lightly break,
And thou, too, wilt depart.
The hoop and ball thrown by,
And “mother” will be called no more
To teach the kite to fly:
A higher flight the world will speak,
To charm thy youthful heart;
And home's soft ties will lightly break,
And thou, too, wilt depart.
I know that this must be—I know
A man must join the throng;
As palms in sunshine loftier grow,
And oaks in storms more strong,—
So man's bold virtues best unfold
Beneath the world's broad sky;
And yet the mother's home how cold,
When all her birds can fly!
A man must join the throng;
As palms in sunshine loftier grow,
And oaks in storms more strong,—
So man's bold virtues best unfold
Beneath the world's broad sky;
And yet the mother's home how cold,
When all her birds can fly!
O, many a time, when pressed with care,
Or sick with pain and grief,
And none my soul's deep thoughts to share,
I've found a sweet relief
From gazing on thy face, my boy,
In life's pure morning bright;
'Twas as the smiling beam of joy
To sorrow's lonely night.
Or sick with pain and grief,
And none my soul's deep thoughts to share,
I've found a sweet relief
406
In life's pure morning bright;
'Twas as the smiling beam of joy
To sorrow's lonely night.
And many a time the midnight hour
Has found my task delayed;
My spirit felt a withering power—
The cypress' gloomy shade:
In vain to frame the song I sought,
Its burning visions gone,
'Till from thy peaceful rest I caught
The hope to bear me on.
Has found my task delayed;
My spirit felt a withering power—
The cypress' gloomy shade:
In vain to frame the song I sought,
Its burning visions gone,
'Till from thy peaceful rest I caught
The hope to bear me on.
And tell me not to crush that hope,
How false such fancies prove,
That bitterest minglings of our cup
Are poured by those we love.
There's One can prosper all my care,
And He my toils will bless—
The tender watch that sparrows share,
Will guard my fatherless.
How false such fancies prove,
That bitterest minglings of our cup
Are poured by those we love.
There's One can prosper all my care,
And He my toils will bless—
The tender watch that sparrows share,
Will guard my fatherless.
And he can bless the amulet
A mother's love would frame,
Make wisdom's gems these words I set
Tried in the heart's pure flame.
Then, dear one, bear this song of home
Graved on thy memory,
And when the world's temptations come,
Thou wilt remember me.
A mother's love would frame,
Make wisdom's gems these words I set
Tried in the heart's pure flame.
Then, dear one, bear this song of home
Graved on thy memory,
And when the world's temptations come,
Thou wilt remember me.
| [Poems by Hale in] The ladies' wreath | |