Saint Paul weekly Minnesotian., 1858-12-04
MY MOTHER.
BN GEO. ID. PRENTICE.

Ny MOTHER. it's II long and weary time
Since last looked upon thy sad, sweet face,
And listened to the gentle spirit-tones
OF thy dear voice of music | was then
4 child. bright haired child. The fearful thought
Which slowly fastened on my throbbing brain,
That thou vast passing from the earth away,
Was NV young life first sorrow. Through the lon
And solemn watches of that awful night
Kind friends. who dearly loved us, gathered roun'
Thy diving couch, and in my agony,
Nv childish agony, shrieked 10 them
To save thee. mother. but with streaming tears,
And in the tones of holy sympathy,
They told me thou wouldst die.
Oh, then l bowed
Nv head TO God whose worship thy dear lips
Had taught me- and 10 Him with bursting heart
prayed that He would spare thee. And, as there
| knelt. 4 holy calm, as If from Heaven,
Came stealing o er my spirit, and voice,
As twere melody from some soft star,
Foaied into my soul. 1t said that thou
Must leave me, that thy home was in the sky,
But that thou still woulds love and guard thy child
And hover round him on thy angel wings
In all his wanderlnss here.
Nv mother then watched
J rose in more than chdhood's strength, and
The fading of thy life. Dear friends still hung
Around thy pillow, but | saw them not.
Wild lamentations and deep sobs were breathed
From hearts OF anguish, but heard them not.
\ man of God poured forth his soul in prayer
For thy souls welfare, but heard him not.
l SAW but thy wan check, thy parted lips,
Thy haltclOsed eyes, SO meek and calm beneath
Olue-yelneu IluS. tly bright dlSneVeeQ locks,
Thy pald brow, damp with the dews of death,
And the faint heaving of thy breast, that oft
In happy hours had pillowed my young head
To sweet and gentle slumber; and heard
But the faint struggles of thy failing breath,
Thy sitting sighs, and the high holy words
That seemed 10 tall like dew drops on my soul
From out the blessed skies. All suddenly,
Thy blue eyes opened and moment looked
pom thy child with one fixed, burning gaze
In which the deep and boarded love of years
as all cOncentred. "A cOnyulslye thrill
Shot through the tibres of thy wasted frame;
And death was there ay, thou vast mine and deaths
And then my tears again gushed wildly FORTH soft
But light from Heaven broke through them with
Prismatic glory, as gazed above,
And saw thee mounting, like a new-made star,
! ar up thy pathway in the heavens.
Long years,
Long years. nv dear lost mother, have gone by
Since that wild hour. My childhood and my youth
Have passed away, and now my manhOOd's prime
Is fading like vision, for my years
Far, far outnumber thine upon the earth,
This dark, cold exile of the gentle heart
From the bright home which it longs to fly,
And be at rest forever. have seen
Much, much Of JOY and sorrow, have felt
Life storms and sunshine, but | ne'er have known
Such raptures as my full heart shared with thee
In childhood's fairy years. Now, time no more
Scatters fresh roses round my feet, his hand
Lets fall upon my path but pale, torn flowers,
j. ad blossoms that the genial dews of eve,
The morning sunlight and the noontde rains
Ay, dust and ashes.
Even thine image now,
The image of the lovely FORM that shone
The starlight of nv childhood scenes to fade
From memorv's vision. 'Tis some pale tint
Upon the twilight wave, a broken glimpse
Of something beautiful and dearly loved
In far-gone years dim and tender dream,
That like faint bow a darkened sky,
Lies on my clouded brain. But OH, thy voice.
Its tones can never perish in my SOUL
Ii visits me amid the strife OF men
In the dark city s solitude. 1t comes
Amid the silence of the midnight hour
Upon my listening spirit like strain
OF fairy music Ger the sea. And oft
When at the eventide amid a hush
Deep as the awful stiffness of Dream
/ stray all lonely through the lcaness woods,
And gaze upon the moon, that seems to mourn
Her lonely lot in Heaven on the trees,
That look like frowning Titans in the dim
And doubtful light, that untorgotten voice
Swells on my ear like the low, mournfu tone
Imprisoned in the sea-shell, or the sound,
The melancholy sound of dying gales
Painting upon the tar-of tree-tops
Yes,
Ny mother dear though mountains, hills and streams
Divide me from thy grave, where | so oft
In childhood laid my bosom on the turf
That covered thine though the drear winter storms
Long oag have er thee their spotless shrouds
And night her pall and though thy image sweet
The one dear picture cherished through my life
Grows dim and DINNER in my brain, thy voice
Is ever in my and in my heart,
To teach me love and genteness and truth
And warn me from the perils that surround
The paths of pilgrims o er this desert earth.