 | Poems and Translations |  |
40
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER.
Oh, let me go weep on his flowerless grave!
I will go in the night, the rain, or the storm;
The perils of gloom and of darkness I'll brave,
To watch and to weep o'er that well-beloved form.
Ay, more than the night, I will go in the sun,
When my anguish and grief are seen by each one!
Oh, break not thus rudely life's holiest ties,
Let the mother now know where the fated son lies.
I will go in the night, the rain, or the storm;
The perils of gloom and of darkness I'll brave,
To watch and to weep o'er that well-beloved form.
Ay, more than the night, I will go in the sun,
When my anguish and grief are seen by each one!
Oh, break not thus rudely life's holiest ties,
Let the mother now know where the fated son lies.
He needs so much prayer in his untimely sleep,—
None will pray! He needs tears,—there 's no one will weep!
Oh, tell me, where rises that misshapen mound?
I will pray and will weep on the cold, clayey ground.
I would give all the joy of my happiest years
To go there and shed these my bitterest tears.
None will pray! He needs tears,—there 's no one will weep!
Oh, tell me, where rises that misshapen mound?
I will pray and will weep on the cold, clayey ground.
I would give all the joy of my happiest years
To go there and shed these my bitterest tears.
I would go to his victim's revered, honored tomb,
And beg, of that merciful heart in the gloom,
His pardon and pity,—he would not refuse!
And then would I haste, in the night's deadly dews,
And whisper it soft to my doomed son, all low.
By my tears, ever watered, bright blossoms might grow,—
Sweet flowers that over his grave would arise,
To show that God knows where the fated one lies.
And beg, of that merciful heart in the gloom,
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And then would I haste, in the night's deadly dews,
And whisper it soft to my doomed son, all low.
By my tears, ever watered, bright blossoms might grow,—
Sweet flowers that over his grave would arise,
To show that God knows where the fated one lies.
May 11th, 1865.
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