Mater Dolorosa "And will it, truly?" questioned she- "And shall your little Mädchen see?" To-day the butterfly has flown,— 287 Then, a little sad, Came my child in turn, O it did not burn! Mother, never mourn." William Barnes [1801-1886] THE LITTLE GHOST THE stars began to peep Bleat to their lambs astray. Her heart cried for her lamb Lapped cold in the churchyard sod, She heard the calling ewes And the lambs' answer, alas! She heard her heart's blood drip in the night As the ewes' milk on the grass. Her tears that burnt like fire So bitter and slow ran down She could not think on the new-washed children Oh who is this comes in Over her threshold stone? And why is the old dog wild with joy Who all day long made moan? This fair little radiant ghost, Her one little son of seven, New 'scaped from the band of merry children In the nurseries of Heaven. Motherhood He was all clad in white That rose and fell again. "Now come with me, my own mother, Oh, lightly sprang she up Nor waked her sleeping man, She is gone swift as a fawn, As a bird homes to its nest, She has seen them lie, the sleepy children At morning she came back; Her eyes were strange to see. However long it be. As she goes in and out She sings unto hersel'; For she has seen the mothers' children And knows that it is well. Katharine Tynan [1861 MOTHERHOOD THE night throbs on; O,'let me pray, dear lad! I cannot think that Thou hadst need of him! 289 Give him to me he is not happy there! Hast Thou an angel there to mother him? he loves me best-if he forgets, I say If Thou allow it that my child forgets And runs not out to meet me when I come What are my curses to Thee? Thou hast heard See Thou tend him well, Thou God of all the mothers. If he lack Forgive me, Lord, but I am sick with grief, Ah, God, my child shall go Orphaned among the angels! All alone. So little and alone! He knows not Thee, THE MOTHER'S PRAYER THE good Lord gave, the Lord has taken from me, The Mother's Prayer Nay! I would not follow, though they did beseech me, For the angels come now waiting for my dead. Heaven's door is open, so my whispers soar there, While the gentle angels lift him from his bed. 291 Oh Lord, when Thou gavest he was weak and helpless, Could not rise nor wander from my shielding arm; Lovely is he now and strong with four sweet summers, Laughing, running, tumbling, hard to keep from harm. If some tender mother, whose babe on earth is living, If upon her breast she holds his baby beauty, Wilful are his ways and full of merry mischief; Each eve shall I come beside his bed so lowly; "Hush-a-by, my baby," softly shall I sing, So, if he be frightened, full of sleep and anger, The song he loved shall reach him and sure comfort bring. Lord, if in my praying, Thou shouldst hear me weeping, Take no heed of this grief. Sweet the gift Thou gavest Do not, therefore, hold me to Thy will ungrateful: Oh, 'tis lonely, lonely, by the little grave! Dora Sigerson Shorter [18 |