Remember us-thou wilt-in love and prayer!
And thou wilt be remember'd-by the dead,
When the last trump awakes them-by the old,
When, of the "silver cord" whose strength thou know'st,
The last thread fails-by the bereaved and stricken,
When the dark cloud, wherein thou found'st a spot
Broke by the light of mercy, lowers again—
By the sad mother, pleading for her child,
In murmurs difficult, since thou art gone—
By all thou leavest, when the Sabbath-bell
Brings us together, and the closing hymn
Hushes our hearts to pray, and thy loved voice,
That all our wants had grown to, (only thus,
'Twould seem, articulate to God,) falls not
Upon our listening ears-remember'd thus-
Remember'd well-in all our holiest hours-
Will be the faithful shepherd we have lost!
And ever with one prayer, for which our love
Will find the pleading words,—that in the light
Of heaven we may behold his face once more!
My birth-day!-Oh beloved mother!
My heart is with thee o'er the seas.
I did not think to count another
Before I wept upon thy knees
Before this scroll of absent years
Was blotted with thy streaming tears.
My own I do not care to check.
I weep--albeit here alone
As if I hung upon thy neck,
As if thy lips were on my own, As if this full, sad heart of mine, Were beating closely upon thine.
Four weary years! How looks she now? What light is in those tender eyes?
What trace of time has touch'd the brow
Whose look is borrow'd of the skies
That listen to her nightly prayer?
How is she changed since he was there
Who sleeps upon her heart alway—
Whose name upon her lips is worn-
For whom the night seems made to pray—
For whom she wakes to pray at morn―
Whose sight is dim, whose heart-strings stir,
Who weeps these tears-to think of her!
I know not if my mother's eyes
Would find me changed in slighter things;
I've wander'd beneath many skies,
And tasted of some bitter springs;
And many leaves, once fair and gay,
From youth's full flower have dropp'd away
But, as these looser leaves depart,
The lessen'd flower gets near the core,
And, when deserted quite, the heart
Takes closer what was dear of yore
And yearns to those who loved it first
The sunshine and the dew by which its bud was nursed.
Dear mother! dost thou love me yet?
Am I remember'd in my home?
When those I love for joy are met,
Does some one wish that I would come?
Thou dost-I am beloved of these!
But, as the schoolboy numbers o'er
Night after night the Pleiades,
And finds the stars he found before
As turns the maiden oft her token
As counts the miser aye his gold
So, till life's silver cord is broken,
Would I of thy fond love be told.
My heart is full, mine eyes are wet
Dear mother! dost thou love thy long-lost wanderer yet?
Oh! when the hour to meet again
Creeps on-and, speeding o'er the sea,
My heart takes up its lengthen'd chain,
And, link by link, draws nearer thee-
When land is hail'd, and, from the shore,
Comes off the blessed breath of home,
With fragrance from my mother's door
Of flowers forgotten when I come—
When port is gain'd, and slowly now,
The old familiar paths are pass'd,
And, entering-unconscious how—
I gaze upon thy face at last,
And run to thee, all faint and weak,
And feel thy tears upon my cheek-
Oh! if my heart break not with joy,
The light of heaven will fairer seem ;
And I shall grow once more a boy:
And, mother!-'twill be like a dream
That we were parted thus for years;
And once that we have dried our tears,
How will the days seem long and bright-
To meet thee always with the morn,
And hear thy blessing every night— Thydearest," thy "first-born!"—
And be no more, as now, in a strange land, forlorn!
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