The poetical writings of Elizabeth Oakes Smith :: :: University of Virginia Library

I knew it not, sweet child, or I
Had smothered that desponding sigh,
For it hath checked thy joyous song;
Thine eye with tears it filleth now,
A shadow resteth on thy brow—
My child, my child, I did thee wrong!

What dost thou whisper in mine ear?
Sweet words “God bless thee, mother dear!”
My own fond one, thou art to me
A hope, a blessing, and a guide—
No more shall doubt and fear abide;
I'll meekly learn my faith of thee.

“God bless thee!” gentle words and kind,
The offspring of a trusting mind—
They bear a pledge, when lips like thine,
Forgetting childhood's random speech,
Do thus a higher lesson teach,
And mystic words like these combine.

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God shield thee, for a heart like thine,
Where truth and tenderness combine,
Alas! is doomed too much to know
Of sympathies all vainly spent—
Of love to blinding worship lent—
And all life's strange and hidden wo.

God shield thee, my poor, gentle boy!
Would that the cup of life and joy,
Dashed from thy mother's lips away,
Might with thine own of fate be blended,
And all the ill for thee intended,
Upon her bosom only prey.