Where wilt thou go to, mother dear?
Oh, do not go away!’
There was long silence, a deep hush,
And then the child’s low sob:
Her quivering eyelids close: one hand
Keeps down the heart’s quick throb.
And the lips move, though sound is none,
That inward voice is prayer.
And hark! ‘Thy will, O Lord, be done!’
And tears are trickling there—