Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MOTHER'S PLEA, by WILLIAM HERBERT (1778-1847)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MOTHER'S PLEA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I stand not here in judgment, haughty priest
Last Line: "leaves life its worth. That lost I welcome death."
Subject(s): Death - Children; Faith; Mothers; Death - Babies; Belief; Creed


"I STAND not here in judgment, haughty priest;
Nature forbids. Against a mother's love,
Against a wife's firm faith, there is no law,
Not e'en to fellest nations gorged with flesh
Of mangled captives. Whence should we adore
Thy deity, who mew'd like one infirm,
In that low fane, sends forth his ministers
To deeds of pitiless rape? Our God bestows
Harvest and summer fruits, chaining the winds
Which never lash our groves. Ye bend the knee
To the carved crucifix in temples wrought
By human hands; ye lift the hymn of praise
By torches' glare at noon day: but the God
We serve, best honour'd by the glorious ray
Of his great luminary, dwells not here
Prison'd midst walls, frail work of mortal skill.
We worship him abroad, under the vault
Of his own heaven; yon star-paved firmament,
The wilderness, the flood, the wreathed clouds
That float from those far mountains robed in mist,
The summits unapproach'd, untouch'd by time,
Snow-clad, are his; too vast to be confined
He fills his works. Bow ye the trembling knee
To your own idols and that murd'rous law
Which bids you seize a mother's callow brood
In hour of peace! The Carib doth not this,
The man-devouring Cabre! Are ye slaves
Unto the spirit of ill who wars with God,
Iolokiamo, the worst foe to man?
That, riving thus the hallow'd ties of life,
Ye work his evil will, and mar the scheme
Of Him beneficent, whose fostering care
Amid these wilds is over all his works.
If there be one great Being, who hears our prayer,
When that sonorous trump, which but to view
Were death to woman, through each leafy glade
Ten leagues aloof sends forth the voice of praise,
Oh, tremble at his wrath! My little ones,
If e'er, restored, ye reach your father's hut,
Tell him I live but while the fervent hope
Of freedom and reunion with my own
Leaves life its worth. That lost I welcome death."





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