TO A BEREAVED MOTHER.

Its smile and happy laugh are lost to thee,
Earth must his mother and his pillow be.

W. G. Clark.

Mother, now thy task is done,
Now thy vigil ended;
With the coming of the sun,
Grief and joy are blended.

Grief that thus thy flower of love
From its stem is riven;
Joy that will bloom above,
Midst the bowers of Heaven.

Gone, as oft expires the light
Of thy nightly taper:
Gone, as 'fore the sunshine bright,
Early morning's vapor.

Kiss its lips so mute and cold,
Cold as chiselled marble,
They will now to harp of gold
Glad Hosannas warble.

At the last they sweetly smiled,
Told it not for gladness;
Would'st thou now recall thy child
To a world of sadness?

It is hard to gather up,
Ties so rudely riven;
But thou'lt find this bitter cup
For thy weal was given.

Kiss again its hands so white,
Kiss its marble forehead;
Soon the grave will hide from sight,
That thou only borrowed.

Thou will meet thy child again,
Where no death or sorrow
Bring their sad to-day of pain,
And their dread to-morrow.