HE knew her not, that fair, young boy, -- Though cradled on her breast, He learn'd his earliest infant joy, And took his nightly rest, For stern disease had blanch'd the brow Once to his gaze so dear, And to a whisper chang'd the voice That best he loved to hear. So, stranger-like, he wondering gazed, While wild emotions swell, As with a deathlike, cold embrace, She breathed her last farewell, And to the Almighty's hand gave back The idol of her trust, And with a glorious hope went down To slumber in the dust. Go, blooming babe, and early seek The path she trod below, And, still with Christian meekness, strive To pluck the sting from woe -- That so, to that all-glorious clime, Unmarked by pain or care, Thou, in thy Saviour's strength mayest come And know thy mother there. |