Poems (Rice)/The Bereaved Mother

by Maria Theresa Rice

THE BEREAVED MOTHER.

MOTHER, I saw you on that Sabbath morn,
 When the destroyer came and claimed your child;
I saw you bending o'er its tiny form,
 While grief was pictured in your accents wild.

The heart was swelling high, by anguish torn,
 Hot tears were streaming from their fountains fast,
As long you looked upon that youngest born—
 Affection's pledge—the dearest and the last.

And I, too, gazed upon that marble face;
 So sweet and beautiful in death it seemed,
That even now my mind can brightly trace
 The angel smile that gently o'er it beamed.

Scarce had the tear been dried upon thy cheek,
 Or hushed the tumult of thy bosom been,
Ere death another victim came to seek,
 And bears thy darling boy to worlds unseen.

Mother, look up and kiss the chastening rod,
 And bow thee in submission to His will;
You gave them in the morn of life to God,
 And He will keep them in His bosom still.

Affection's tender hand shall bring sweet flowers,
 And strew them o'er the green turf where they rest
Until you meet again in blissful bowers
 The lost and lovely, 'mid the pure and blest.

The casket only to the earth you give—
 The worthless covering of a priceless gem;
The deathless spirit shall forever live,
 And wear, in brighter worlds, a diadem.