 | Lyra Apostolica (1864) |  |
146
A VOICE FROM NORTH AMERICA
“When my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord taketh me up.”
Mother! and hast thou left thy child
With winds unpitying in the wild,
Stretching his feeble arms from far,
Where coldly sets the Western star;
And is thy fostering bosom dry?
With winds unpitying in the wild,
Stretching his feeble arms from far,
Where coldly sets the Western star;
And is thy fostering bosom dry?
My Child! upon me is a chain,
Mid those who have our Master slain;
And signs I see of coming war,
Tempestuously it broods afar,—
The night in silence driveth by.
Mid those who have our Master slain;
And signs I see of coming war,
Tempestuously it broods afar,—
The night in silence driveth by.
147
Mother! whate'er betide thee, save
The Robe and Arms He dying gave,
That, thee to keep, a sheltering charm,—
And these thy foes, from their own arm;
O watch them wisely, warily!
The Robe and Arms He dying gave,
That, thee to keep, a sheltering charm,—
And these thy foes, from their own arm;
O watch them wisely, warily!
My child! I hold them still, but they
Would those immortal Arms essay,
And rend my sheltering Robe in twain;
But aye with me shall they remain,—
With them I live, with them I die!
Would those immortal Arms essay,
And rend my sheltering Robe in twain;
But aye with me shall they remain,—
With them I live, with them I die!
Mother! 'tis late with fear I cope,
And from my dangers gather hope:
The world grows sere, and I my bed
Have made of leaves around me shed,
Till come the Day-spring from on high.
And from my dangers gather hope:
The world grows sere, and I my bed
Have made of leaves around me shed,
Till come the Day-spring from on high.
My Child! whate'er shall me betide,
An Angel's face is at thy side;
He, who amid the Arabian wild
Did with the mother save the child,
Doth o'er thee lean, and hear thy cry.
An Angel's face is at thy side;
He, who amid the Arabian wild
Did with the mother save the child,
Doth o'er thee lean, and hear thy cry.
148
Mother! some Hand, through sky, o'er sea,
Leads wandering birds protectingly,
Mid floating piles, and ocean dark;
That Hand will guide thy homeless bark,
Then leave them to their enmity.
Leads wandering birds protectingly,
Mid floating piles, and ocean dark;
That Hand will guide thy homeless bark,
Then leave them to their enmity.
My Child! shall mine forsaken be,
That I may feed thy flock with thee?
Yet know, ere they shall me bereave
Of my own Arms, yea, though I grieve,
Unto thine icy hills I fly.
That I may feed thy flock with thee?
Yet know, ere they shall me bereave
Of my own Arms, yea, though I grieve,
Unto thine icy hills I fly.
Mother! our sun hath gone to rest,
But left behind a gleaming vest;
It lies the western sky along,
And round me comes a starry throng,
From out our Father's house on high.
But left behind a gleaming vest;
It lies the western sky along,
And round me comes a starry throng,
From out our Father's house on high.
My Child! as darker grows the night,
Good Angels thus shall o'er thee light:
And Memory, true to Him that's gone,
Shall take his torch and lead thee on,
A moon unfelt, but calm and nigh.
Good Angels thus shall o'er thee light:
And Memory, true to Him that's gone,
Shall take his torch and lead thee on,
A moon unfelt, but calm and nigh.
ζ.
| Lyra Apostolica (1864) | |