The Golden Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English Language |
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| XIV. | XIV
THE WAIL OF THE CORNISH MOTHER
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 | The Golden Treasury |  |
18
XIV
THE WAIL OF THE CORNISH MOTHER
They say 'tis a sin to sorrow,
That what God doth is best;
But 'tis only a month to-morrow
I buried it from my breast.
That what God doth is best;
But 'tis only a month to-morrow
I buried it from my breast.
I thought it would call me Mother,
The very first words it said:
O, I never can love another
Like the blesséd babe that's dead.
The very first words it said:
O, I never can love another
Like the blesséd babe that's dead.
Well! God is its own dear Father;
It was carried to church, and bless'd;
And our Saviour's arms will gather
Such children to their rest.
It was carried to church, and bless'd;
And our Saviour's arms will gather
Such children to their rest.
I will make my best endeavour
That my sins may be forgiven;
I will serve God more than ever:
To meet my child in heaven.
That my sins may be forgiven;
I will serve God more than ever:
To meet my child in heaven.
I will check this foolish sorrow,
For what God doth is best—
But O, 'tis a month to-morrow
I buried it from my breast!
For what God doth is best—
But O, 'tis a month to-morrow
I buried it from my breast!
R. S. Hawker
| The Golden Treasury | |