A CHILD was born to me today, A birth without a throe; Joy thrills within me, but the pain Died thirty years ago; For 'tis the child of him I bore, And well may he entwine His dearest hopes about it; still, 'Tis mine, and ever mine. And I shall comfort all its hurts, And weep when it is ill, And know some portion of the grief A mother knows; but still The care, the watchful discipline Through all the years must fall To other hands--for me such things Have passed, and love is all. The child I bore, himself made good All my distress and pain; And now the child that comes to me From heaven is pure gain.-- And his child will be mine. And his. I'll down the ages go In glad, perpetual motherhood Through births without a throe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES by CHARLES LAMB SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 48 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 138 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE MUIOPOTMOS, OR THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE by EDMUND SPENSER AMERICA by JAMES MONROE WHITFIELD |