Part 2 — TO MOTHER.
Reading edition
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BY ANNIE GREY.
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Oh! wake, my mother! wake! and hail
With me this dawning day;
Oh wake, my mother! wake and list
Thy daughter’s fervent lay.
She comes to seek thy blessing,
And to whisper in thine ear—
That warmer glows her love for thee
With every added year.
Wake, mother! wake! while faintly steal
The sunbeams pure and bright,
And playful throw around thy couch
Their most bewitching light.
For this is a hallowed day, mother!
A hallowed day to me;
’Twas at its dawn, four years ago,
That first I greeted thee.
We love the sunbeams, mother,
And wheresoe’er they rest,
We feel their sacred influence,
As though some angel guest
Concealed itself ’mid golden rays,
That from God’s holy shrine
Fall as night-dews or summer-showers,
Refreshing and divine.
We love the sunbeams, mother!
What beauties they awake,
When first from the clear eastern sky
All gloriously they break.
Oh! how the flowers delight to feel
Their warm kiss from above,
And brighten ’neath it as the heart
Beneath a kiss of love;
And merrier dance the waters,
When every ripple shows
A sparkling crown like diamond gems,
As carelessly it flows.
But wake, my mother! wake and list
The strain I have to sing;
’Tis not of these glad sunbeams,
Though joy around they fling,
But of a sunbeam brighter,
That cheers me all the while,
And never knoweth change, mother!
The sunbeam of thy smile.
How often, oh! how often,
When my heart feels lone and drear,
Its thrilling presence banishes
All thoughts of grief or fear.
How often, often, mother!
When I’ve mourned, but scarce knew why,
I’ve hailed its light, and soon forgot
The tear-drop and the sigh.
For thoughts of sadness will intrude
Upon my soul oft times;
They come and bid me ne’er forget
That there are purer climes.
And still I trust its radiance
May fall upon my soul
Through all my future hours and days,
As onward still they roll.
And, mother! oh, my mother!
When this dream of life is o’er,
When God calls back his wandering child
To Heaven’s unclouded shore,
Amid the pure and golden beams
That fall around me there,
The gentle stir of angel wings
And harp-strings softly fair,
I’ll not forget thee, mother!
Though fleeting years have flown,
But come sometimes and watch o’er thee
When thou art all alone.
Thou wilt not see me, but I’ll come
Upon the summer breeze,
Or hidden lay amid the shade
Of young, green summer leaves,
And whisper in thine ear, mother,
Of what I feel too well,
But words of mortal dialect
Can never, never tell.
I’ll whisper of my fervent love,
And breathe low thanks to thee
For all the tenderness and care
Thou hast bestowed on me.
And I shall hope to meet thee
In the sinless land on high,
Where we can lisp in tones of love
The language of the sky.
Oh! I shall be waiting, mother dear!
And watching all the while,
To greet again, with happy heart,
The sunbeam of thy smile.