I asked him where he had been so long
Away from his mother’s care—
Again to sing me his infant song,
And to kneel by my side in prayer.
He said, “Sweet mother, the song I sing
Is not for an earthly ear:
I touch the harp with a golden string,
For the hosts of heaven to hear.
“It was but a gently fleeting breath,
That severed thy child from thee!
The fearful shadow, in time, called Death,
Hath ministered life to me.
“My voice in an angel choir I lift;
And high are the notes we raise:
I hold the sign of a priceless gift,
And the Giver, who hath our praise.
“‘The bright and the morning star’ is he,
Who bringeth eternal day!
And, mother, he giveth himself to thee,
To lighten thine earthly way.
“The race is short to a peaceful goal,
And He is never afar,
Who saith of the wise, untiring soul,
‘I will give him the morning star!’
“Thy measure of care for me was filled,
And pure to its crystal top;
For Faith, with a steady eye, distilled
And numbered every drop.
“While thou wast teaching my lips to move,
And my heart to rise in prayer,
I learned the way to a world above;
The home of thy child is there!
“The secret prayers, thou didst make for me,
That only thy God hath known,
Arose, like sweet incense, holy and free,
And gathered around his throne.
“My robe was filled with the perfume sweet
To shed upon this world’s air,
As I joyful knelt, at my Saviour’s feet,
For the glorious crown I wear.