Mother's Litany by the Sick-Bed of a Child

Saviour, that of woman born,
Mother-sorrow didst not scorn--
Thou, with whose last anguish strove
One dear thought of earthly love--
Hear and aid!

Low he lies, my precious child,
With his spirit wandering wild
From its gladsome tasks and play,
And its bright thoughts far away--
Saviour, aid!

Pain sits heavy on his brow,
E’en though slumber seal it now;
Round his lip is quivering strife,
In his hand unquiet life--
Aid! oh, aid!

Saviour! loose the burning chain
From his fever’d heart and brain,
Give, oh! give his young soul back
Into its own cloudless track!
Hear and aid!

Thou that saidst, “Awake! arise!”
E’en when death had quench’d the eyes--
In this hour of grief’s deep sighing,
When o’erwearied hope is dying,
Hear and aid!

Yet, oh! make him thine, all thine,
Saviour! whether Death’s or mine!
Yet, oh! pour on human love,
Strength, trust, patience, from above!
Hear and aid!