THE MOTHER’S ANSWER.

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BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORE.

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Which do I love best? Question strange is thine!

Dost ask a mother which she loveth best,

Of the fair children that a hand divine

In tender love hath lain upon her breast?

Which do I love best? When our first-born came,

And his low wailing filled my darkened room

On my soul’s altar glowed an incense-flame,

And light ineffable dispersed the gloom

And since that hour, heart-music rare and sweet

Hath floated through my spirit’s inmost cell;

Oft hath its low peal given me strength to meet

Alike Care’s thrall and Pleasure’s luring spell.

And I have felt there was a holier power

In the charmed-words of mother and wife,

Than in the brightest dreams of girlhood’s hour,

When young Romance flung glittering hues o’er life.

Our first-born—blessings on him!—he hath been

For four short years our treasure and our pride,

With his fair, open brow, and eye serene,

And winning ways of mirth and thought allied.

And now upon my breast a babe is nestling,

With her dear father’s eyes of darkest hue,

And dark brown hair upon her forehead resting,

And rose-bud mouth, just meet for kisses too.

Her very helplessness doth plead for love;

Yet of no sudden growth mine own hath been,

Taught by an instinct springing from above,

The mother loves her child, although unseen.

And ere her large, soft eyes had seen the light,

I longed to clasp her to my yearning heart

For then I knew what rapturous delight—

Pure, strong, deep mother-love, can aye impart.

Mine is a love-lit and love-guarded path;

Green is the turf my foot hath ever pressed;

Mine are the choicest gifts affection hath—

I cannot tell thee which I love the best!