The Prisoner's Mother.
Reading edition
BY MRS. S. E. WIRICK.
To be a prisoner's mother Is to feel a piercing dart
That sets the mind a-whirling And almost cleaves the heart.
To be a prisoner's mother Is, upon a holiday,
To visit him in prison, Then part and go away.
To be a prisoner's mother 'Tis, inside the lonely wall,
To say, "Farewell, my darling"— Oh, I almost faint and fall.
No resting place but heaven, No happy morn that dawns;
Our home so drear and lonely Because our boy is gone.
An empty bed, a missing plate, A grief that inward burns;
No balm on earth to heal our hearts Until our boy returns.
"Honor and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honor lies."
