Southern sentinel. [volume] (Plaquemine, Parish of Iberville [La.]) 1848-1858, 1856-06-14
SOUTHERN SENTINEL
From the Wilkinson Wing.
A Mothers Hand.
B YMAREL

She elapsed his hand within her own, and kiss
sed his throbbing brow
"My son." she said, with trembling lip, II feel
I'm dying now,
Push back the curtain, raise my head-'tis dark,
] scarce can see
And ere ! close my eyes in death, I'd look once
more on thee;
Alone, | leave thee all alone, in thy young man.
hoods pride,
With soul u%nbowed, with spirit brave, with
heart unstained, untgied-
No herce, wild passion in thy breast has ever
yet been stirred,
And free thou art from cares dark chain as any
mountain bird;
Bat oh! my son, the hour has come, thou must
go forth in life
A mothers pray'r the only shield to guard
thee in the strife
The neR'ry Of a mother voice, the only guide
to night,
When the yoang soul is passion tossed and
swayed by errors might;
My son! my son! | see thee not, yet still thy
hands in mine,
And tears are falling on my brow, know they
must be thine
4 feel thy breath, thy kiss, thy ~touch-thank
GOD, lis thus die;
Thy mothers blessing follow thee, my darling
child, goodbye"
There's music on the midnight air-tbe fest tai
board Is spread,
And graceful forms are fitting bv, with light,
yet measured tread;
The cup is pledged-tney pause to quaff--the
Jest goes cireliHg round,
And careless peals of revelry from vault TO
vault resound-
''Ha Ia ha, here's health to thee, LIES rosy
hours must end,
Let Us enjoy them while we may, and happy be,
my friend
Here, take the cup, twas filled for thee by fair
er hands than mine,
And coral lips have touched the brim, and kiss
ed the sparkling wine;"
He listens to the syren voice, a flush is on his
brow
Yes, he musttaste the maddening wine--bright
eyes are on him now;
IT'S cowardly to be afraid, why should a strong
man fear?
Why should he turn from pleasures cup, he
sees no serpent near
Yes he has raised ii it to bis lip--what was that
passing sound
lis looks no more on tempting cup, It's dashed
upon the ground;
A voice, he hears no other nOw--tis sounding
IS ~ o. r
Cast off The charm," lis whispers say, abe
Qaiek. be qiuck DEPART"
A soft hand in this trying hour, seems clasped
The scorners cannot hold him back--he's free
once more, alone.
On the threshold Of a cottage, with clasped, up,
lifted hands,
And swelling heart If thankfulnesa, a sun.
Drowned stranger stands;
His face wears many marks of care, yet clear as
morning sky
Is the lightofbuun4n kindness that beams with.
in his eye;
The last rays Of The setting sun fall OH his no.
BILE brow,
And winds that tossed his childhood's curls,
sweep DER h6 gray hairs now;
lie hears, or does he dean he hears, the tones
If music wild,
The same foved long, long ago, when he vas
bat a child,
Aad tears, blest tears are falling fast, aye, holy
tears arc they,
Such tears rs angels love to wipe from man.
hoods cheek away;
How thrills his heart, they only know whose
fate IL is to roam
In forSign lands, BY foreign streams, long years
from chiIdhood's IlonIe,
And then, as strangers tread again upon their
native shore,
To find each spot is changed and drear, and
hons to them no more;
But still his tears speak not Of grief-they tell
Of quiet bliss
His soul is of a brighter cline, a fairer world
than this;
He kneeIs, and to his heart comes back a we'll
loved, gentle tone
His mothers hand once more he dreams is
elasped within his own--
His soul 10 full--he siaks to rest, and now that
guiding hand
Points out to him the radiant way into the
spirit land.