Sits with the children of her birth....
Go forth to her from the dark and the dust
And weep beside her, if weep thou must;
If she may not hold thee to her breast,
Like a weary infant, that cries for rest;
At least she will press thee to her knee
And tell a low, sweet tale to thee,
Till the hue to thy cheek, and the light to thine eye
Strength to thy limbs, and courage high
To thy fainting heart return amain.