Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO A MOTHER, by A. I. AMBLER



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TO A MOTHER, by            
First Line: Oh mother, when with thy sorrow alone
Last Line: Thou wilt call the lost once more thine own.
Subject(s): American Civil War; Death; Grief; Love; Mothers; United States - History; Dead, The; Sorrow; Sadness


Oh mother, when with thy sorrow alone,
Thy heart goes forth with a wailing moan,
To thy darling who sleeps in a soldier's tomb.
Forever safe from the battle-gloom.
When thy voice cries out in anguish wild,
For thy pride and joy, thy first-born child;
When presses upon thee that weight of woe,
That only a mother-heart can know;
When o'er thy grief sets the summer sun,
And thy soul still yearns for the absent one:
Go forth in the night, and upward raise
To the glowing heavens thy aching gaze,
Thou wilt see a new star shining on high,
Gleaming and sparkling in the sky:
'T is the light of his glory that flames so bright,
Falling upon thy soul's dark night;
The anthems of God his spirit now sings,
And in Paradise flutter his angel-wings,
And oh! when such joy and bliss divine
Rest on the boy, canst thou repine?
Yet if still thy heart will no solace receive,
And if still thy grief finds no reprieve,
Lay thy head on thy pillow and dream,
And let the present the future seem;
Then will the glory of Jesus' love,
Guide thee up to his Kingdom above,
And in dreams amid the seraph band,
Thou shalt clasp thy loved one's holy hand.
When free from the earth and its fierce turmoils,
Thou wilt rest from its grief and rest from its toils;
When over thy son and over thee
Shall murmur the leaves of the blessed tree,
And with him in joy thou shalt dwell forever
In that Land where no death your souls can dissever;
Thus let all else be to thee as a dream,
To-night let the present the future seem,
Then will thy heart in the dawn of the morrow,
Be free from its burden of woe and sorrow,
And gladly thou'lt list to the happy mirth
Of the children who still smile around thy hearth,
And peaceful thy life thou wilt journey o'er,
Till thou bidst farewell to the earthly shore,
And on pinions from Heaven upward rise,
To the plain where the Blessed City lies,
Knocking in fear at the pearly gate,
Trembling and hoping for thy fate;
Leaving behind thee thine earthly sin,
As the angels bid thee to enter in,
And pressing near to Jehovah's throne,
Thou wilt call the lost once more thine own.





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