MOTHER-LOVE

The seraphs would sing to her

And from the River

Dip her cool grails of radiant Life.

The angels would bring to her,

Sadly a-quiver,

Laurels she never had won in earth-strife.

And often they'd fly with her

O'er the star-spaces —

Silent by worlds where mortals are pent.

Yea, even would sigh with her,

Sigh with wan faces!

When she sat weeping of strange discontent.

But one said, “Why weepest thou

Here in God's heaven —

Is it not fairer than soul can see?”

“‘ Tis fair, ah!— but keepest thou

Not me depriven

Of some one — somewhere — who needeth most me?

“For tho’ the day never fades

Over these meadows,

Tho’ He has robed me and crowned — yet, yet!

Some love-fear for ever shades

All with sere shadows —

Had I no child there — whom I forget?”