The poetical works of James Montgomery collected by himself |
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A MOTHER'S LAMENT
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 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
A MOTHER'S LAMENT
ON THE DEATH OF HER INFANT DAUGHTER.
I loved thee, Daughter of my heart;
My Child, I loved thee dearly;
And though we only met to part,
—How sweetly! how severely!—
Nor life nor death can sever
My soul from thine for ever.
My Child, I loved thee dearly;
And though we only met to part,
—How sweetly! how severely!—
Nor life nor death can sever
My soul from thine for ever.
Thy days, my little one, were few,—
An Angel's morning-visit,
That came and vanish'd with the dew:
'Twas here, 'tis gone, where is it?
Yet didst thou leave behind thee
A clue for love to find thee.
An Angel's morning-visit,
That came and vanish'd with the dew:
'Twas here, 'tis gone, where is it?
Yet didst thou leave behind thee
A clue for love to find thee.
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The eye, the lip, the cheek, the brow,
The hands stretch'd forth in gladness,
All life, joy, rapture, beauty now.
Then dash'd with infant sadness,
Till, brightening by transition,
Return'd the fairy vision:—
The hands stretch'd forth in gladness,
All life, joy, rapture, beauty now.
Then dash'd with infant sadness,
Till, brightening by transition,
Return'd the fairy vision:—
Where are they now?—those smiles, those tears,
Thy Mother's darling treasure?
She sees them still, and still she hears
Thy tones of pain or pleasure,
To her quick pulse revealing
Unutterable feeling.
Thy Mother's darling treasure?
She sees them still, and still she hears
Thy tones of pain or pleasure,
To her quick pulse revealing
Unutterable feeling.
Hush'd in a moment on her breast,
Life, at the well-spring drinking,
Then cradled on her lap to rest,
In rosy slumber sinking,
Thy dreams—no thought can guess them;
And mine—no tongue express them.
Life, at the well-spring drinking,
Then cradled on her lap to rest,
In rosy slumber sinking,
Thy dreams—no thought can guess them;
And mine—no tongue express them.
For then this waking eye could see,
In many a vain vagary,
The things that never were to be,
Imaginations airy;
Fond hopes that mothers cherish,
Like still-born babes to perish.
In many a vain vagary,
The things that never were to be,
Imaginations airy;
Fond hopes that mothers cherish,
Like still-born babes to perish.
Mine perish'd on thy early bier;
No—changed to forms more glorious,
They flourish in a higher sphere,
O'er time and death victorious;
Yet would these arms have chain'd thee,
And long from heaven detain'd thee.
No—changed to forms more glorious,
They flourish in a higher sphere,
O'er time and death victorious;
Yet would these arms have chain'd thee,
And long from heaven detain'd thee.
Sarah! my last, my youngest love,
The crown of every other!
Though thou art born in heaven above,
I am thine only Mother,
Nor will affection let me
Believe thou canst forget me.
The crown of every other!
Though thou art born in heaven above,
I am thine only Mother,
Nor will affection let me
Believe thou canst forget me.
Then,—thou in heaven, and I on earth,—
May this one hope delight us,
That thou wilt hail my second birth
When death shall re-unite us,
Where worlds no more can sever
Parent and child for ever.
May this one hope delight us,
That thou wilt hail my second birth
When death shall re-unite us,
Where worlds no more can sever
Parent and child for ever.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |