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to my mother.
I would not, for all that the Future can bring me,
Forget the dear hours when I sat at your feet,
The song, that was sure of approval to sing thee,
The look, that was always so loving to meet.
Forget the dear hours when I sat at your feet,
The song, that was sure of approval to sing thee,
The look, that was always so loving to meet.
When I flew to your smile with each joyous emotion,
But hid from your heart every sorrow I knew;—
Oh! wayward perhaps was my childish devotion;
But it ne'er for a moment was cold or untrue.
But hid from your heart every sorrow I knew;—
Oh! wayward perhaps was my childish devotion;
But it ne'er for a moment was cold or untrue.
And still, when the chill wing of wo darkens o'er me,
I am grateful its shadow extends not to thee;
While if Praise thrill my heart or if joy smile before me,
I sigh—"Could she know it, how glad she would be!"
I am grateful its shadow extends not to thee;
While if Praise thrill my heart or if joy smile before me,
I sigh—"Could she know it, how glad she would be!"
Sweet mother! too fondly your darling you cherish'd,
For me to forget you, wherever I go—
Ah no: not till memory's power has perish'd;
I love you too dearly to turn from you so!
For me to forget you, wherever I go—
Ah no: not till memory's power has perish'd;
I love you too dearly to turn from you so!
