My Mother

Think'st thou if spirits pure as thine
Through life might be for ever near,
I should not every fear resign,
As from my boyhood's home I steer?

A mother heard our infant cries,
And folded us with fond embrace,
And when we woke, our infant eyes
Were opened on a mother's face.

Our wishes she did make her own,
Her bosom fed and pillow'd too,
Answering each start or fitful moan
With trembling pulses fond and true.

Then knowledge was a thing untaught;
Heaven's charity, a daily dole,
Stole in inaudibly, and wrought
Its gentle bonds about the soul.

And oh! if spirits pure as thine
Through life might be for ever near,
There would be scantier chance that mine
Would sink beneath the doom I fear!