And help me thus to say,
“Thou knowest that I love thee!”
February 21, 1841.
THE DYING MOTHER.
A mother is dying—O! breathe no sound,
Let her faint low tones be heard!
Now stifle your sobs as ye stand around,
And list to each parting word!
Throw open the casement, and let the breeze
Playing over the jessamine vine,