IN days of childhood, now long-lapsed and dim, Often I sat within a holy place, Where mystic word and solemn-rolling hymn Touched the tranced souls of men to thoughts of grace. Too small to comprehend, yet happy there I lingered, since beside me, close and dear, Sat the slim mother with her rippled hair, Her smile, her breathing and her color clear. And she would hold my hand and so express In some deep way the wonder of the hour: Our spirits talked, by silent tenderness, As easily as flower nods to flower. And to this day, whenso I go alone Into some shadowed quiet, hear a choir, Hark the great organ's most melodious moan And watch the windows flush day-light with fire, Over me once again those memories steal; I sit dream-struck and seem to understand God's meaning; for, across the years, I feel The meek, sure magic of my mother's hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FATIGUE; EPIGRAM by HILAIRE BELLOC COWSLIPS AND LARKS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE OLD MAN'S WISH by WALTER POPE THE FIRST BLUEBIRD by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY ISAIAH: PERFECT PEACE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IF LINCOLN SHOULD RETURN by MARGARET E. BRUNER |