[Mother's love, in] The Boston book Being specimens of metropolitan literature, occasional and periodical |
 |
 | [Mother's love, in] The Boston book |  |
213
MOTHER'S LOVE.
The mother's love—there's none so pure,
So constant and so kind,
Nor human passion doth endure
Like this within the mind.
So constant and so kind,
Nor human passion doth endure
Like this within the mind.
Lightly a soft cheek presses hers,
Soft as a nestling dove,
And through her thrilling bosom stirs
A mother's tender love.
Soft as a nestling dove,
And through her thrilling bosom stirs
A mother's tender love.
Now pile your gold like Inca's high,
Unveil Golconda's mine,
But not for wealth that thrones might buy
Would she her child resign.
Unveil Golconda's mine,
But not for wealth that thrones might buy
Would she her child resign.
How hushed she sits beside its bed,
And watches o'er its rest,
While oft its little helpless head
Is pillowed on her breast.
And watches o'er its rest,
While oft its little helpless head
Is pillowed on her breast.
Her thankful tears, a gentle shower,
Her smiles of love are given
To fall upon her human flower,
Like light and dew from heaven.
Her smiles of love are given
To fall upon her human flower,
Like light and dew from heaven.
And while its charms, to her so fair,
Expand beneath her gaze,
She reckons not her nights of care,
Nor counts her anxious days.
Expand beneath her gaze,
She reckons not her nights of care,
Nor counts her anxious days.
The conscious smile, the kiss returned,
And “Mother,” sweetly spoken,
These are the pure delights she 's earned,
Pleasures of God the token.
And “Mother,” sweetly spoken,
These are the pure delights she 's earned,
Pleasures of God the token.
| [Mother's love, in] The Boston book | |