The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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FROM A MOTHER TO HER
DAUGHTER IN LONDON. |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
FROM A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER IN LONDON.
How thoughtful oft I sit alone,
My only child, and think of thee;
I bear thee to th' Almighty's throne,
Whene'er in prayer I bow the knee.
My only child, and think of thee;
I bear thee to th' Almighty's throne,
Whene'er in prayer I bow the knee.
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A mother's blessings and her prayers,
Are more than words can e'er express;
A father's love, a father's cares,
Though less display'd, are still no less.
Are more than words can e'er express;
A father's love, a father's cares,
Though less display'd, are still no less.
The midnight hour oft comes and goes,
And tells the death of each short day;
I hear it oft before I close
Mine eyes, while thou art far away.
And tells the death of each short day;
I hear it oft before I close
Mine eyes, while thou art far away.
But why should I o'er this complain?
For many a friend with God is there;
Thou art not lost amid the main,
As many a mother's daughters are.
For many a friend with God is there;
Thou art not lost amid the main,
As many a mother's daughters are.
Thou hast not with the worthless fled,
On folly's miserable way;
No word arrives, “Your Betsy's dead,”
In distant climes, far, far away.
On folly's miserable way;
No word arrives, “Your Betsy's dead,”
In distant climes, far, far away.
But, blest with health, O let us praise
The Lord! and not repine and mourn;
For swiftly pass away the days,
Which bring my daughter's dear return.
The Lord! and not repine and mourn;
For swiftly pass away the days,
Which bring my daughter's dear return.
Then I again shall hear her sing,
In mutual labour's sweet employ,
While Time flies swiftly on the wing,
And evenings pass away with joy.
In mutual labour's sweet employ,
While Time flies swiftly on the wing,
And evenings pass away with joy.
283
When there is so much good and ill,—
O may the good by her be lov'd!
May heav'nly wisdom guide her will,
And may she bring a mind improv'd.
O may the good by her be lov'd!
May heav'nly wisdom guide her will,
And may she bring a mind improv'd.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |