University of Virginia Library

A Mother's Grave.

My mother's grave. 'Tis there beneath the trees.
I love to go alone, and sit, and think
Upon that grassy mound. My cradle hours
Come back again so sweetly, and the smile
That ever beamed upon me, when I woke
And lifted up my head, to kiss the cheek
That bow'd to meet me. And I seem to feel
Once more the hand that smooth'd my clustering curls,
And led me to the garden, pointing out
Each fragrant flower and bud, or drawing back
My foot, lest I should careless crush the worm
That crawl'd beside us.
And that gentle tone,
Teaching to pat the house-dog, and be kind
To the poor cat, and spare the little flies
Upon the window, and divide my bread
With those that hunger'd, and bow meekly down
To the grey-headed man, and a look with love
On all whom God hath made.
And then her hymn
At early evening, when I went to rest,
And folded closely to her bosom, sat
Joining my cheek to her's and pouring out
My broken music, with her tuneful strain:—
Comes it not back again, that holy hymn,
Even now, upon my ear?
But when I go
To my lone bed, and find no mother there,
And weeping, kneel to say the prayer she taught,
Or when I read the Bible that she lov'd,
Or to her vacant seat at church draw near,
And think of her, a voice is in my heart,
Bidding me early seek my God, and love
My blessed Savior.
Sure, that voice is her's.
I know it is, because these were the words
She us'd to speak so tenderly, with tears,
At the still twilight-hour, or when we walk'd
Forth in the Spring amid rejoicing birds,
Or whispering, talk'd beside the winter fire.
—Mother! I'll keep these precepts in my heart,
And do thy bidding.
Then, when God shall say,
My days are finish'd, will he give me leave
To come to thee? And can I find thy home
And see thee with thy glorious garments on,
And kneel at the Redeemer's feet, and beg
That where the Mother is, the Child may dwell?