A MOTHER heard our infant cries, And folded us with fond embrace, And when we woke, our infant eyes Were opened on a mother's face. Our wishes she did make her own, Her bosom fed and pillowed too, Answering each start or fitful moan With trembling pulses fond and true. Then knowledge was a thing untaught: Heaven's charity, a daily dole, Stole in inaudibly, and wrought Its gentle bonds about the soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CASTLE OF CHILLON by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE LEADEN-EYED by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE ARMADA; A FRAGMENT by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY CRITICS AND CONNOISSEURS by MARIANNE MOORE LOFT AT NIGHT by VIRGINIA ABEL PSALM 93 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |