THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD AFTER ITS FATHER’S DEATH.

By the Rev. Daniel Evans, B.D.

My gentle child, thou dost not know
Why still on thee I am gazing so,
And trace in meditation deep
Thy features fair in silent sleep.

Thy mien, my babe, so full of grace,
Reminds me of thy father’s face;
Although he rests beneath the tree,
His features all survive in thee.

Thou knowest not, my gentle child,
The deep remorse that makes me wild,
Nor why sometimes I can’t bestow
A smile for smile when thine doth glow.

Thy father, babe, lies in the clay,
Lock’d in the tomb, his prison gray;
And yet methinks he still doth live,
When on thy face a glance I give.

And dost thou smile, my baby fair,
Before my face so pale with care?
What for the world and its deceit,
With myriad snares for youthful feet?

These are before thee, while the aid
Of father’s counsel is deep laid;
And soon thy mother wan may find
A last home there—and thou behind.

Thy sad condition then will be
Like some lone flower upon the lea,
Without a cover from the wind,
Or winter’s hail and snow unkind.

But smile thou on—in heaven above
Thy father lives, and He is love;
He knows thy lot, and well doth care
For all, and for thee will prepare.

If through His help, Jehovah good!
Thou smilest now in blissful mood;
May I not think, safe in His hand
Thou mayest travel through this land?

Smile on, my child, for thou wilt find
In Him a friend and father kind;
He’ll guide the orphan on his way,
Nor ever will his trust betray.

At last in the eternal land
We all shall meet a joyous band,
Without ought danger more to part,
Or tear or sigh to heave the heart.

By Rev. Daniel Evans, B.D.

Gentle Woman! thou most perfect
Work of the Divine Architect;
Pearl and beauty of creation,
Rose of earth by all confession.

Myriad times thy smiles are sweeter
Than the morning sun doth scatter,
All the loveliness of Nature
Into thee almost doth enter.

The rose’s hues and of the lily,
Verdant spring in all its beauty,
Brighter yet among the flowers
Is fair woman in her bowers.

As the water fills the river,
Full of feeling is her temper,
And her love, once it doth settle,
Truer than the steel its mettle.

Full of tenderness her bosom,
Deep affection there doth blossom,
Gentle Woman! who can wonder
After thee man’s heart doth wander?

I have seen without emotion
Fields of blood and desolation,
But I never saw the tear
On woman’s eye and mine not water.

From her lips a word of soothing
Will disarm all angry feeling,
On her tongue a balm of comfort,
Great its virtue, strong its support.

Pleasant is it for the traveller
On his way to meet with succour,
Sweeter far when at his own home,
To receive fair woman’s welcome.

Woman cheerful in a family
Makes the group around so happy,
And her voice filled with affection,
Yields an Eden of communion.

Poor the man that roams creation
Without woman for companion,
Destitute of all protection,
Without her to bless his station.

Gentle Woman! all we covet
Without thee would be but wretched,
Without thy voice to banish sorrow,
Or sweet help from thee to borrow.

Thou art light to cheer our progress,
Star to brighten all our darkness,
For the troubled soul an anchor
On each stormy sea of terror.