Читать книгу Mother's Dream and Other Poems - Gould Hannah Flagg - Страница 26

Methought, once more to my wishful eye

My beautiful boy had come:

My sorrow was gone, my cheek was dry,

And gladness around my home.

I saw the form of my dear, lost child!

All kindled with life he came;

And he spake in his own sweet voice, and smiled,

As soon as I called his name.

The garb he wore looked heavenly white,

As the feathery snow comes down,

And warm, as it shone in the softened light

That fell from his dazzling crown.

His eye was bright with a joy serene,

His cheek with a deathless bloom,

That only the eye of my soul hath seen,

When looking beyond the tomb.

The odors of flowers, from the thornless land

Where we deem that our blest ones are,

Seemed borne in his skirts; and his soft right hand

Was holding a radiant star.

His feet, unshod, looked tender and fair,

As the lily’s opening bell,

Half veiled in a cloud of glory, as there

Around him, in folds, it fell.

I asked him how he was clothed anew —

Who circled his head with light —

And whence he returned to meet my view

So calm and heavenly bright.

I asked him where he had been so long

Away from his mother’s care —

Again to sing me his infant song,

And to kneel by my side in prayer.

He said, “Sweet mother, the song I sing

Is not for an earthly ear:

I touch the harp with a golden string,

For the hosts of heaven to hear.

“It was but a gently fleeting breath,

That severed thy child from thee!

The fearful shadow, in time, called Death,

Hath ministered life to me.

“My voice in an angel choir I lift;

And high are the notes we raise:

I hold the sign of a priceless gift,

And the Giver, who hath our praise.

“‘The bright and the morning star’ is he,

Who bringeth eternal day!

And, mother, he giveth himself to thee,

To lighten thine earthly way.

“The race is short to a peaceful goal,

And He is never afar,

Who saith of the wise, untiring soul,

‘I will give him the morning star!’

“Thy measure of care for me was filled,

And pure to its crystal top;

For Faith, with a steady eye, distilled

And numbered every drop.

“While thou wast teaching my lips to move,

And my heart to rise in prayer,

I learned the way to a world above;

The home of thy child is there!

“The secret prayers, thou didst make for me,

That only thy God hath known,

Arose, like sweet incense, holy and free,

And gathered around his throne.

“My robe was filled with the perfume sweet

To shed upon this world’s air,

As I joyful knelt, at my Saviour’s feet,

For the glorious crown I wear.

“In that bright, blissful world of ours,

The waters of life I drink:

Behold my feet, as they ’ve pressed the flowers,

That grow by the fountain’s brink!

“No thorn is hidden to wound me there;

There ’s nothing of chill, or blight,

Or sighing to blend with the balmy air —

No sorrow – no pain – no night!”

“No parting?” I asked, with a burst of joy;

And the lovely illusion broke!

My rapture had banished my beauteous boy —

To a shadowy void I spoke.

But, O! that STAR of the morn still beams

With light to direct my feet

Where, when I have done with my earthly dreams,

The mother and child may meet.