 | Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan |  |
109
THE DEAD SON.
The boy was in the clay,
The mother was weeping still
From dawn to evening grey
When stars looked over the hill.
Between the dawn and dark,
The night and day between,
About the stillest hour of mirk
Oh, who is this comes in?
The mother was weeping still
From dawn to evening grey
When stars looked over the hill.
Between the dawn and dark,
The night and day between,
About the stillest hour of mirk
Oh, who is this comes in?
He did not lift the latch,
He came without a sound,
He stood within a moonlit patch,
A space of holy ground.
His robe was to his feet,
All of the fair silk fine,
The gold curls were soft and sweet
That she was used to twine.
He came without a sound,
He stood within a moonlit patch,
A space of holy ground.
His robe was to his feet,
All of the fair silk fine,
The gold curls were soft and sweet
That she was used to twine.
110
But on his hair of silk
There was a drift like rain,
His robe as white as milk
Did show a piteous stain.
“O mother, mother!” he said,
“Your tears have wet me through;
I am come from the blessèd dead
To try and comfort you.
There was a drift like rain,
His robe as white as milk
Did show a piteous stain.
“O mother, mother!” he said,
“Your tears have wet me through;
I am come from the blessèd dead
To try and comfort you.
“The other children play,
But when I would rejoice,
O mother, I hear from far away
The crying of your voice!
Your tears are heavy as lead,
I cannot run or leap;
O mother, mother, mother,” he said,
“I pray you not to weep!”
But when I would rejoice,
O mother, I hear from far away
The crying of your voice!
Your tears are heavy as lead,
I cannot run or leap;
O mother, mother, mother,” he said,
“I pray you not to weep!”
The red cock and the black
Crew, and her lamb was gone;
She rose and set the window back
And welcomed in the dawn.
She swept the sanded floor,
And made the fire to burn,
With all her weeping done and o'er.
God comfort them that mourn.
Crew, and her lamb was gone;
She rose and set the window back
And welcomed in the dawn.
She swept the sanded floor,
And made the fire to burn,
With all her weeping done and o'er.
God comfort them that mourn.
| Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan | |