 | Shamrocks |  |
170
MARAH.
My baby was always weeping,
From the hour it was born;
It never leaped and crowed
Like other babies at play;
In waking still or in sleeping,
It wept most dumb and forlorn.
Bearing its mother's load,
No wonder my head is grey.
From the hour it was born;
It never leaped and crowed
Like other babies at play;
In waking still or in sleeping,
It wept most dumb and forlorn.
Bearing its mother's load,
No wonder my head is grey.
It never looked on its father;
He is lying under the sea.
When they told me my dear was drowned,
The midsummer was here.
I was singing in the heather,
And the lark's song answered me;
For his ship was homeward bound.
We were only wed that year.
He is lying under the sea.
When they told me my dear was drowned,
The midsummer was here.
I was singing in the heather,
And the lark's song answered me;
For his ship was homeward bound.
We were only wed that year.
171
I was like a crazed creature;
I wept most terribly;
Mad laughter and mad weeping,
Till my little one was born.
Like him in form and feature,
With eyes like a summer sea;
But the tears from the closed lids creeping
Never ceased till this morn.
I wept most terribly;
Mad laughter and mad weeping,
Till my little one was born.
Like him in form and feature,
With eyes like a summer sea;
But the tears from the closed lids creeping
Never ceased till this morn.
It would have broken my heart,
But it was broken already;
The Lord has taken it home:
There is none so tender as He.
And His mother in motherly part
Will train the footsteps unsteady,
Nor think it too troublesome
To rock asleep on her knee.
But it was broken already;
The Lord has taken it home:
There is none so tender as He.
And His mother in motherly part
Will train the footsteps unsteady,
Nor think it too troublesome
To rock asleep on her knee.
And teach him later to play
And laugh and run like another;
For there are playgrounds up there,
To please the lambs of the fold.
Nor let him forget; and some day
He will run, beholding his mother,
And twine his hands in her hair,
And kiss her with loving untold.
And laugh and run like another;
For there are playgrounds up there,
To please the lambs of the fold.
Nor let him forget; and some day
He will run, beholding his mother,
And twine his hands in her hair,
And kiss her with loving untold.
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