POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL
He nothing heeds the long despair
Within the savage swamp,
The jungle and the thicket where
The serpent tribes encamp;
He little heeds the dream of Fame,
Its treason or its trust,
The hope of a sonorous name—
A requiem from the dust.
But oh, he heeds Elysian hours
That hint of Long Ago!
Those dreamful days in college towers
He never more shall know—
The home he never more may see,
A Paradise to him—
The books he read at Mother’s knee
When her dear eyes grew dim!
O Mother—Mother! Tears must fleet
Along the battle track
Ere yet thy lonely heart can greet
Its weary wanderer back—
A deathless love these tears bespeak,
For thy devotion shed,
With thy pure kisses on my cheek,
Thy blessing on my head!
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