66
miscellaneous poems.
TO MARY.
Come, my sweet one, 'tis thy slumbering hour;
With clasped hands bend humbly to that Power—
The Giver of all good, all joy to thee:
Who, my young child, can that kind influence be?
With clasped hands bend humbly to that Power—
The Giver of all good, all joy to thee:
Who, my young child, can that kind influence be?
Mother, I look on the glowing sky,—
On the bright stream that bubbles and gushes by;
On the earth, with its beautiful flowers and trees,
And I hear sweet music upon the breeze!
The birds have a voice of song and glee,
But the Power you speak off I cannot see!
Is He on earth, 'mid the flowers so sweet?
Mother, his foosteps may I meet,
And thank Him for all His love to me?
Oh! mother, why look you so mournfully?
On the bright stream that bubbles and gushes by;
On the earth, with its beautiful flowers and trees,
And I hear sweet music upon the breeze!
The birds have a voice of song and glee,
But the Power you speak off I cannot see!
Is He on earth, 'mid the flowers so sweet?
Mother, his foosteps may I meet,
And thank Him for all His love to me?
Oh! mother, why look you so mournfully?
My gentle one:—when your young bird died,
Remember how sadly you sobb'd and cried?
When its notes were mute, nor answered your glee,
Look'd you not then most mournfully?
Remember how sadly you sobb'd and cried?
When its notes were mute, nor answered your glee,
Look'd you not then most mournfully?
