BEING HIS MOTHER.

Being his mother — when he goes away

I would not hold him overlong, and so

Sometimes my yielding sight of him grows O

So quick of tears, I joy he did not stay

To catch the faintest rumor of them! Nay,

Leave always his eyes clear and glad, although

Mine own, dear Lord, do fill to overflow;

Let his remembered features, as I pray,

Smile ever on me! Ah! what stress of love

Thou givest me to guard with Thee thiswise:

Its fullest speech ever to be denied

Mine own — being his mother! All thereof

Thou knowest only, looking from the skies

As when not Christ alone was crucified.