Original, serious, and religious poetry by the Rev. Richard Cobbold |
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A MOTHER. |
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 | Original, serious, and religious poetry |  |
131
A MOTHER.
O memory, memory, poignant with grief,
How heavily traces my soul the fond thought,
When a mother's bright smile gave my spirit relief,
That mother to mind now by memory brought.
How heavily traces my soul the fond thought,
When a mother's bright smile gave my spirit relief,
That mother to mind now by memory brought.
Dear Orwell, ah what are thy waters and shades,
And what are thy beauties to one now repining,
A mother, dear mother, my senses pervades,
That parent God bless her! her light is still shining.
And what are thy beauties to one now repining,
A mother, dear mother, my senses pervades,
That parent God bless her! her light is still shining.
Poor mother! I sing of thee, sing with delight;
If nature was lovely, if wisdom was here,
In the person of woman, my fond and pure sight,
Sees before it thy form! O my mother was dear!
If nature was lovely, if wisdom was here,
In the person of woman, my fond and pure sight,
Sees before it thy form! O my mother was dear!
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With a spirit of fire, and a heart of pure love,
O often the beam of thy kindness would open,
And dart with delight like the sun from above,
And relieve thy child's heart with a rapturous token.
O often the beam of thy kindness would open,
And dart with delight like the sun from above,
And relieve thy child's heart with a rapturous token.
O mother as round the dear spot of my birth,
On the banks of my youth's former frolicksome gambol,
I ride, walk, or wander, the days of such mirth,
Have my mother's dear form, in my innocent ramble.
On the banks of my youth's former frolicksome gambol,
I ride, walk, or wander, the days of such mirth,
Have my mother's dear form, in my innocent ramble.
But now, ah, me thinks the cold tomb of St. Clement,
Of earth holds the ashes, of all that was great
In the form of that mother; funereal cement,
Encloses the dead in the last mortal state.
Of earth holds the ashes, of all that was great
In the form of that mother; funereal cement,
Encloses the dead in the last mortal state.
But the Spirit, the Spirit that quickened that form,
It abides with her son, or perchance has ascended,
And leaving this earth for the treacherous worm,
With the Spirit of God is in Paradise blended.
It abides with her son, or perchance has ascended,
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With the Spirit of God is in Paradise blended.
O there may I meet it, O there in God's grace
May my spirit ascend, and be pardon'd for sin!
May it see the bright vision of God face to face,
And be blest and rewarded with pleasure therein.
May my spirit ascend, and be pardon'd for sin!
May it see the bright vision of God face to face,
And be blest and rewarded with pleasure therein.
But the moment of evil, the present sad day,
O I wander o'er nature, and seek not my merit!
In fervor of thought, with devotion I pray,
God preserve my young heart, and assist it with Spirit.
O I wander o'er nature, and seek not my merit!
In fervor of thought, with devotion I pray,
God preserve my young heart, and assist it with Spirit.
'Till the trumpet's glad sound, shall awaken the just,
And O! may I be one, through Jesus my Lord?
I must patiently wait, in this lingering dust,
And cheerfully love, and abide in God's Word.
And O! may I be one, through Jesus my Lord?
I must patiently wait, in this lingering dust,
And cheerfully love, and abide in God's Word.
| Original, serious, and religious poetry | |