THE CRY OF THE FORSAKEN.

———

BY GIFTIE.

———

Sing me to sleep, dear mother,

Upon thy faithful breast —

Ah! many a day hath passed, mother,

Since I laid me there to rest.

Now I am weary, weary,

And I fain would sleep once more,

And dream such dreams of heaven,

As I used to dream of yore.

Since then I’ve known Love’s power, mother —

Its heritage is tears —

And I have felt, sweet mother,

Its wild tumultuous fears.

Now hath the idol fallen,

On my soul’s ruined shrine —

All other hearts deceive me,

In grief I turn to thine.

Lull me to rest, kind mother,

And sing to me the while —

These tearful eyes shall cease to weep

These lips put on a smile.

And tell me of that blessed land

Where love is not in vain,

And they who wept despairingly

Shall never weep again.

Lull me to rest, dear mother,

Sing to me soft and low,

The same sweet mournful strain, mother,

You sang me long ago,

I am weary and heart-broken,

And I fain would be at rest,

Oh take me in thine arms, mother —

Let me slumber on thy breast.