VIII.
THE MOTHER'S EPISTLE.
Sweet daughter, leave thy tasks and toys,
Throw idle thoughts aside,
And hearken to a mother's voice,
That would thy footsteps guide;
Though far across the rolling seas,
Beyond the mountains blue,
She sends her counsels on the breeze,
And wafts her blessings too.
To guard thy voyage o'er life's wave,
To guide thy bark aright,
To snatch thee from an early grave,
And gild thy way with light,
Thy mother calls thee to her side,
And takes thee on her knee,
In spite of oceans that divide,
And thus addresses thee:
I.
Learn first this lesson in thy youth,
Which time cannot destroy,
To love and speak and act the truth—
'Tis life's most holy joy;
Wert thou a queen upon a throne,
Decked in each royal gem,
This little jewel would alone
Outshine thy diadem.
II.
Next learn to conquer, as they rise,
Each wave of passion's sea;
Unchecked, 'twill sweep the vaulted skies,
And vanquish heaven and thee;
Lashed on by storms within thy breast,
These billows of the soul
Will wreck thy peace, destroy thy rest,
And ruin as they roll!