 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
359
TO MY WIFE.
Mother of my children! listen
While the moon above is bright,
And the starry watchers glisten—
Jewels on the brow of night.
Thou hast waited, pale and lonely,
For my coming, late and long.
Oh! mine own thou art—mine only—
And the muse that prompts my song.
While the moon above is bright,
And the starry watchers glisten—
Jewels on the brow of night.
Thou hast waited, pale and lonely,
For my coming, late and long.
Oh! mine own thou art—mine only—
And the muse that prompts my song.
In my dreams angelic faces
Look on me, though far away;
Happy smiles and infant graces
Round soft lips and dimples play:
And my little flock they gather
Closely round my vacant chair,
With a yearning wish that father
Would come back their sports to share.
Look on me, though far away;
Happy smiles and infant graces
Round soft lips and dimples play:
And my little flock they gather
Closely round my vacant chair,
With a yearning wish that father
Would come back their sports to share.
On the bosom of her mother,
Like a rose-bud, Florence lies,
Looking at her little brother,
With his large, blue, sparkling eyes:
Near, some book of story reading,
Sits my daughter, eldest-born,
And blithe Charlie by is speeding
With a laughing look like morn.
Like a rose-bud, Florence lies,
Looking at her little brother,
With his large, blue, sparkling eyes:
Near, some book of story reading,
Sits my daughter, eldest-born,
And blithe Charlie by is speeding
With a laughing look like morn.
Oh! how fragile and uncertain
Were the hopes that once were ours,
But beyond life's sunset curtain
We will find unfading flowers.
Till that closing hour, together
We will wander hand in hand,
And, though fair or foul the weather,
Live and love, by sea and land.
Were the hopes that once were ours,
But beyond life's sunset curtain
We will find unfading flowers.
360
We will wander hand in hand,
And, though fair or foul the weather,
Live and love, by sea and land.
While I know for me that nightly
Lifted is thy voice in prayer,
Beats my laboring heart more lightly,
And the landscape looks more fair:
Pray that I may soon caress thee,
While affection's accents flow,
Once more to my bosom press thee,
And celestial rapture know.
Lifted is thy voice in prayer,
Beats my laboring heart more lightly,
And the landscape looks more fair:
Pray that I may soon caress thee,
While affection's accents flow,
Once more to my bosom press thee,
And celestial rapture know.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |