The Wail of the Cornish Mother

They say 'tis a sin to sorrow —
That what God doth is best :
But 'tis only a month to-morrow,
I buried it from my breast.

I know it should be a pleasure,
Your child to God to send ;
But mine was a precious treasure
To me and to my poor friend.

I thought it would call me " mother,"
The very first words it said ;
Oh ! I never can love another
Like the blessed babe that's dead.

Well, God is its own dear Father,
It was carried to church and blessed :
And our Saviour's arms will gather
Such children to their rest.

I shall make my best endeavour
That my sins may be forgiven ;
I will serve God more than ever,
To meet my child in heaven.

I will check this foolish sorrow,
For what God does is best ;
But Oh ! 'tis a month to-morrow,
I buried it from my breast.