112
Poems
For of all good gifts with which God has blessed
His children, a good, true woman is best;
And a better woman, nor one more true
Than thou wert, my mother, I never knew.
Thou hast entered at last the wide domain,
Where the riddle of life is now made plain.
Thou wert ever true to thy people's creed,
And wert never deaf to thy people's need.
His children, a good, true woman is best;
And a better woman, nor one more true
Than thou wert, my mother, I never knew.
Thou hast entered at last the wide domain,
Where the riddle of life is now made plain.
Thou wert ever true to thy people's creed,
And wert never deaf to thy people's need.
The God of the Christian! the God of the Jew!
Has He told thee the True faith is just to be true?
True to thine own creed,—whate'er it may be,—
True to thy people, in bondage or free;
True to thy God and the gifts He bestowed;—
Love lights the faithful along Death's dim road.
Thy tasks are accomplished,—thy life's work all done,
Thy calm smile now tells me thy rest is begun.
Has He told thee the True faith is just to be true?
True to thine own creed,—whate'er it may be,—
True to thy people, in bondage or free;
True to thy God and the gifts He bestowed;—
Love lights the faithful along Death's dim road.
Thy tasks are accomplished,—thy life's work all done,
Thy calm smile now tells me thy rest is begun.
No more of the fret, the fume and the tears,
That crowded thy life in its earlier years.
No more of the pleasures, the hopes and the joys,
And the dreams that have filled thy dear heart for thy "boys!"
But no heaven shall tempt thee, dear mother, to
Beyond call of their voices in sorrow and woe.
That crowded thy life in its earlier years.
No more of the pleasures, the hopes and the joys,
And the dreams that have filled thy dear heart for thy "boys!"
But no heaven shall tempt thee, dear mother, to
Beyond call of their voices in sorrow and woe.
