I am not Angry.
I am not angry, dearest boy,
No cloud is on my brow,
Thou seest only smiles of joy,
I am not angry now.
A mother’s heart has yearn’d for thee,
A mother’s tears have flown,
A mother’s prayers been offer’d up
To the eternal throne:
And though thou hast been wayward, boy,
Misguided by thy will,
A mother’s love is thine, my boy
Thou art my darling still.
While thou wert on the rolling deep,
Toss’d by the rugged sea,
My only comfort was to weep—
To weep and pray for thee.
Over thy follies I have shed,
Ah! many a bitter tear,
And I have mourn’d for thee as dead
Through all the passing year;
Yet I have pray’d that thou, my son,
Might’st catch my latest breath,
That thy dear hands, and thine alone,
Might close my eyes in death.
I do forgive thee now, my boy,
It frees my heart from pain,
My bosom throbs alone with joy
To see thy face again.
Though thou hast wander’d far from me,
I’ll yet forgive the past,
For I am happy, boy, to see
Thou hast return’d at last.
Yes, now this heart is fill’d with joy,
My sororws are all o’er,
For thou art here again, my boy,
And we shall part no more.