 | The forest minstrel |  |
LINES ADDRESSED TO H. F. M.,
ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER.
Mourner! shall I bid thee dry
The tears of filial grief?
Shall I bid thee check the sigh
That gives thy heart relief?
Oh, I cannot! for I know
That resignation's silent tears
Are balsam to the wounds of wo,
Cool balm to cankering cares.
The tears of filial grief?
Shall I bid thee check the sigh
That gives thy heart relief?
Oh, I cannot! for I know
That resignation's silent tears
Are balsam to the wounds of wo,
Cool balm to cankering cares.
Thou wilt find no love so pure
As hers whose love is past;
None that can so long endure,
So fervent to the last.
Oh, how a pious mother's love
Will fondly agonize and bear,
Presenting at the Throne above
The object of its care.
As hers whose love is past;
None that can so long endure,
So fervent to the last.
Oh, how a pious mother's love
Will fondly agonize and bear,
Presenting at the Throne above
The object of its care.
Never more to that kind breast
Wilt thou confide thy cares—
That unwearied home of rest
Of thine infantine years,
That fond breast will throb no more
With hopes, and fears, and cares for thee;
Even the latest pang is o'er
Of poor humanity.
Wilt thou confide thy cares—
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Of thine infantine years,
That fond breast will throb no more
With hopes, and fears, and cares for thee;
Even the latest pang is o'er
Of poor humanity.
Closed for ever are those eyes,
Whose beams of love and joy
Heightened all the ecstacies
Of her light-hearted boy;
Thou wilt meet the sunny beam
Of her approving love no more,
Or bathe in that consoling stream
Thy heart with anguish sore.
Whose beams of love and joy
Heightened all the ecstacies
Of her light-hearted boy;
Thou wilt meet the sunny beam
Of her approving love no more,
Or bathe in that consoling stream
Thy heart with anguish sore.
Yet, reflect, those eyes have shed
Full many a tear for thee,
And many a night beside thy bed,
Have watched with agony.
All their watchings now are o'er,
Their latest tears are dried away;
And they shall wake to weep no more
At the last joyful day.
Full many a tear for thee,
And many a night beside thy bed,
Have watched with agony.
All their watchings now are o'er,
Their latest tears are dried away;
And they shall wake to weep no more
At the last joyful day.
Though thou never more may'st hear
Her kind consoling voice,
Whispering softly hope and cheer,
When blighted are thy joys;
Though thou ne'er shall clasp again
The hand that stayed thine infant head,
Ministered to all thy pain,
And smoothed thy cradle bed;
Her kind consoling voice,
Whispering softly hope and cheer,
When blighted are thy joys;
Though thou ne'er shall clasp again
The hand that stayed thine infant head,
Ministered to all thy pain,
And smoothed thy cradle bed;
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Yet, reflect, while in the tomb
Her mortal body lies,
The spirit in immortal bloom
Is blessed in Paradise—
In that holier world above,
Where no care, no stain can come;
All her pure and tender love
Lives in heavenly bloom.
Her mortal body lies,
The spirit in immortal bloom
Is blessed in Paradise—
In that holier world above,
Where no care, no stain can come;
All her pure and tender love
Lives in heavenly bloom.
Wouldst thou call her back again
From Heaven's ecstatic bliss,
To feel the grief, the care, and pain
Of such a world as this?
All such selfish grief repress,
And follow to the bright abode,
Where thou mayst share her blessedness,
Before the Throne of God.
From Heaven's ecstatic bliss,
To feel the grief, the care, and pain
Of such a world as this?
All such selfish grief repress,
And follow to the bright abode,
Where thou mayst share her blessedness,
Before the Throne of God.
| The forest minstrel | |