The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know
Why still on thee I am gazing so,
And trace in meditation deep
Thy features fair in silent sleep.
Thy mien, my babe, so full of grace,
Reminds me of thy father's face;
Although he rests beneath the tree,
His features all survive in thee.
Thou knowest not, my gentle child,
The deep remorse that makes me wild,
Nor why sometimes I can't bestow
A smile for smile when thine doth glow.
Thy father, babe, lies in the clay,
Lock'd in the tomb, his prison gray;
And yet methinks he still doth live,
When on thy face a glance I give.
And dost thou smile, my baby fair,
Before my face so pale with care?
What for the world and its deceit,
With myriad snares for youthful feet?
These are before thee, while the aid
Of father's counsel is deep laid;
And soon thy mother wan may find
A last home there--and thou behind.
Thy sad condition then will be
Like some lone flower upon the lea,
Without a cover from the wind,
Or winter's hail and snow unkind.
But smile thou on--in heaven above
Thy father lives, and He is love;
He knows thy lot, and well doth care
For all, and for thee will prepare.
If through His help, Jehovah good!
Thou smilest now in blissful mood;
May I not think, safe in His hand
Thou mayest travel through this land?
Smile on, my child, for thou wilt find
In Him a friend and father kind;
He'll guide the orphan on his way,
Nor ever will his trust betray.
At last in the eternal land
We all shall meet a joyous band,
Without ought danger more to part,
Or tear or sigh to heave the heart.