Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (1st ed.).djvu/10

 

And ope'd the door to one whose face
Bore sorrow's past and present trace.
"Why Martha?" (thus began the boy,)
"Why look so pale? What makes you cry?"
"Oh! Master Henry! oh!" she said,
"My child! my poor blind child is dead!
Struck, struck by lightning,"—then on the floor,
She shuddering fell, to rise no more!
Of friends, of fortune, long bereft,
With only that one heartstay left:
That son to whom she 'd given birth
Was all that bound the wretch to earth.
For him, she 'd labour'd long, had borne
This world's privations, and its scorn!
For those who know her history tell
She "Loved not wisely but too well!"
That sightless pledge her only joy,
Her poor, her blind, neglected boy!
Now, all was ended, this sad blow
Fill'd to the brim her cup of woe.
Enough of life was left to tell
The death of him she 'd loved so well.
This latest, saddest, grief express'd,
Her broken spirit sunk to rest!