Poems (Osgood)/To My Mother

by Frances Sargent Osgood

TO MY MOTHER.

Sweet mother! you fear while no longer you guide me,
 The Past will be lost in the Present's gay show;
But ah! whether joy or misfortune betide me,
 I love you too dearly, your love to forego!

I would not, for all that the Future can bring me,
 Forget the dear hours when I sat at your feet,
The song, that was sure of approval to sing thee,
 The look, that was always so loving to meet.

When I flew to your smile with each joyous emotion,
 But hid from your heart every sorrow I knew;—
Oh! wayward perhaps was my childish devotion;
 But it ne'er for a moment was cold or untrue.

And still, when the chill wing of wo darkens o'er me,
 I am grateful its shadow extends not to thee;
While if Praise thrill my heart or if joy smile before me,
 I sigh—"Could she know it, how glad she would be!"

Sweet mother! too fondly your darling you cherish'd,
 For me to forget you, wherever I go—
Ah no: not till memory's power has perish'd;
 I love you too dearly to turn from you so!