Thou know’st the grief, the love,
The fear of woman’s soul;—to thee I come!
Many, and sad, and deep,
Were the thoughts folded in thy silent breast;
Thou, too, couldst watch and weep—
Hear, gentlest mother! hear a heart oppress’d!
There is a wandering bark
Bearing one from me o’er the restless wave:
Oh, let thy soft eye mark
His course! Be with him, holiest! guide and save!