 | The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay |  |
THE MOTHER'S LAMENT.
I
How mournful is my fate!I've lost my hope, my love, my joy;
My heart is desolate,
And beats but to deplore.
Thy father went before,
And left but thee to bless me, boy!
Thy face was bright as day,
Thy voice like music's sound:
The voice is hush'd, the light is quench'd
In the cold, cold ground.
II
But yet thou sleepest well.It was a glorious field, my son,
On which thy father fell!
Ah! double grief is mine;
Alike his fate and thine!
'Twas hard such love to yield, my son:
'Twas hard to lose you both,
E'en though your country found;
But flowers are springing from your graves,
In the cold, cold ground.
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III
The cheerful leaves unfold,As they were looks of thine, my boy,
To bid me be consoled,
And learn to hope and pray:
They seem to smile, and say,
“The grave is powerless to destroy.”
The sunshine gilds my face;
Love, like the flowers around,
Points smiling up to Heaven, my boy,
From the cold, cold ground.
| The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay | |