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I see thee when, in lonely hour,
My semblance wins thy ready tear;
Thou canst not hear my spirit step,
But, mother! I am near!

When glowing morn the mountain treads
With foot of fire and dewy eye,
And dazzled seraphs veil their heads
Before the light on high!

And when beneath my home of joy
The stars are smiling through the air,
Where angels roam on blest employ,
Je veille sur toi, ma mère!

While o'er thy wearied frame is shed
The welcome balm of soothing sleep,
Lightly e'er that beloved head—
My vigils still I keep!

Dost thou not see in visions fair,
A radiant being wander by?
And hear a soft voice murmuring there,
"My mother! it is I?"