I had a mother once, and her dear name Has power even now to thrill my very frame, And call forth feelings which can only rise When Love doth view its object in the skies.
So would I view thee, Mother, and rejoice That I have power to raise my feeble voice And tell what thoughts arise within my breast, As thus I view thee entered into rest.
O, say, my Mother, canst thou see thy son? Dost thou behold the poor, erratic one Who has been tossed on Life's tempestuous wave Till he has fairly longed to find his grave?
I fain would know if, when I heave a sigh, Tears e'er bedim thy sympathetic eye? When I have drunk so deep of heartfelt woe, And: roved the vanity of all below,
Oh, say, my Mother, hast thou felt a share Know'st thou what‘ tis to be weighed down with care? Why write I thus? for souls in heavenly bliss Feel not our woes — know not what sorrow is —
Unless their past experiences they feel, To aid, by contrast, in producing weal. For it is written, “God shall wipe away Tears from all faces,” in Eternal Day!
Then let me rest content, and strive to show True patience, while I suffer here below, And follow Christ wherever he may lead: Thus proving faith sincere by every deed.
O, then, whenever he may call me hence, I shall be willing to leave time and sense And mount aloft to dwell with God forever, To taste that bliss from which naught can me sever.
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