"Oh, was there ever so weary a woman!
I have been only twelve years wed.
But I've never a moment of peace or quiet.
Six rough boys, with their noise and riot,
Are wearing me out," I said.
"Six rough boys to mend and work for,
To clothe and feed--it is hard at best;
There's never an end to my weary labors,
There is no time for rest."
Dark fell the shadows around my little cottage,
Weeping I leaned over one little bed,
Vain were the tears on the tiny face falling;
In the dim distance I heard a voice calling--
"Come unto me," it said.
And down through the starlight an angel descended,
And stood by my Jamie's low bedside.
"Come! there is room with the angels," she whispered,
"Heaven is fair and wide."
"Fair are its meadows, and wide are its mansions,
And thousands of children are gathered there."
Vain were the prayers that I prayed, leaning o'er him,
Up to the mansions of heaven she bore him.
Woe for my heart's despair!
Oh, to recall the harsh words that I uttered!
Oh, for his litter and noise to-day!
Oh, for the labor his hands would make me!
Hands that are turned to clay.
Five sturdy boys troop into my cottage,
John, Will, Sammy, and Bob and Fred--
Five brave boys as e'er blessed a mother.
But always and ever I miss the other,
The dear, dear boy that is dead.
I miss the ring of his childish laughter,
Miss him and mourn for him night and day,
But wide are the mansions, and fair are the meadows
Where the feet of my Jamie stray.
1872
[A MOTHER'S REVERIE]
The shadows drop down o'er the fields tinged with brown,
Where the snow-drifts were gleaming of late,
And the day shuts her eyes, while th' red western skies
Make ready the chambers of state.
How still the house seems! while round about gleams
Th' last mellow rays of th' sun.
There's no step on the stair--no voice anywhere,
Crying, "Mother, the last task is done!"
Can it be I'm alone? can it be there are none
Left of eight, who have called me that name?
Four boys and four girls, with their tresses and curls,
Four brave boys, four fair girls, that came
To my home one by one, like lost rays from the sun,
And where are they all now? I pray;
Like birds from the nest, the babes on my breast
Took wing, and have fluttered away.
There was John, my first child; as gentle and mild
As the maiden that grew at his side,--
First to come, last to stay; but death called him away,
It is two years, to-day since he died.
Hope, Mary, and Joe are all married, and so
Have gone into homes of their own;
Mark is over the sea, and Flora--hush! we
Never speak of the one who has flown.
My Will, bonny Will, fell at Champion Hill--
My dark-eyed, my raven-tressed son;
There was one at his side fell too; and Kate died
Of grieving for Will--and that one!
Yet bravely we try, my life-mate and I,
To be happy and cheerful alway.
God knows best what to do; yet I think if we knew
She were dead, 'twould seem better to-day.