Poems (Rice)/A Lament

by Maria Theresa Rice

For works with similar titles, see A Lament.

A LAMENT.

  ANOTHER year has sped,
A year of pain and dread,
And yet no tidings from my absent one;
  None yet has come to me
  Across the moaning sea;
No word, alas, from him, my wandering son.

  To celebrate his birth
  To-day no joy, no mirth;
His name no one will think but me to call,
  Or wonder why I sigh
  When merry ones are nigh;
They think this day should pleasure bring to all.

  How sweet were then my dreams;
  But yesterday it seems
Since first his head was pillowed on my breast;
  O then I breathed a prayer
  Upon his forehead fair,
And thought no head was ever half so blest.

  Each ruddy lad I see,
  I think it may be he,
If near his age, in every walk I take;
  If dark brown eye and hair,
  I am trying to compare
Their features—scan till I a likeness make.

  Perchance some gentle hand
  In that bright golden land,
Which has allured—has tempted scores to stray,
  May kindly lead him right,
  May to their homes invite;
For this do I, how often, do I pray.

  How much he must be grown;
  Two years 'tis hard to own,
And could I own, where should I learn, O where?
  Who'd sympathy bestow
  To lighten this my woe,
Or counsel me in griefs they cannot share?

  Another year, I may
  Sit then, as now to-day,
My hopes all crushed, and health may distant be,
  And friends may talk and smile,
  In vain try to beguile;
Alas, my boy I never more may see.

  Yet I would not rebel,
  Would not my sorrows tell;
'Tis but a leaf torn from the volume great;
  Many a mother may,
  With longings deep to-day,
Hope for the news which I myself now wait.

  Sighing is all in vain;
  Great Father! O sustain!
I sometimes think I never could bear more;
  Yet when with Thee I plead,
  How gently dost Thou lead
Me in sweet paths I never trod before.