110
Poems
So rich in sweet kisses and wisdom's store!
And the wondrous gifts of her fairy lore!
What matter that often our feet went bare!
What matter that oft there was scanty fare!
With that dear hand holding the rudder straight,
Faith sailed life's bark, and we laughed at Fate.
Oh! I did not know, till the years were sped,
How hard was the task, dear, to keep us fed!
And the wondrous gifts of her fairy lore!
What matter that often our feet went bare!
What matter that oft there was scanty fare!
With that dear hand holding the rudder straight,
Faith sailed life's bark, and we laughed at Fate.
Oh! I did not know, till the years were sped,
How hard was the task, dear, to keep us fed!
Nor how bruised by labor that hand was oft,
That had seemed to our tender needs so soft.
Nor how much of sacrifice, work and pain,
Fill the life of the mother that thou hast been.
Oh! Memory comes, with her velvet tread,
And laying soft hands on my bending head,
She draws aside this dark curtain of woe,
To show the sweet pictures of long ago.
That had seemed to our tender needs so soft.
Nor how much of sacrifice, work and pain,
Fill the life of the mother that thou hast been.
Oh! Memory comes, with her velvet tread,
And laying soft hands on my bending head,
She draws aside this dark curtain of woe,
To show the sweet pictures of long ago.
Nay, my mother dear, though for thee the bell
Is tolling its message of sad farewell,
Thou art still alive in the beating heart
Of thy loved one, reft, and shall ne'er depart.
For of all the gifts with which God has blessed
His children, a brave, true mother is best;
And of all the mothers I ever knew,
To me thou wert bravest, to me most true.
Is tolling its message of sad farewell,
Thou art still alive in the beating heart
Of thy loved one, reft, and shall ne'er depart.
For of all the gifts with which God has blessed
His children, a brave, true mother is best;
And of all the mothers I ever knew,
To me thou wert bravest, to me most true.
