Poems (Smith)/Thoughts on my Mother

by Martha A. Smith

THOUGHTS ON MY MOTHER.

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I am trying to be patient,
 And lift my heart above,
That God may still sustain me,
 And fill my soul with love,—

That I may bear my burthen,
 And feel it's for the best:
Perhaps some day the angels
 Will take me home to rest,

I oft times feel so weary,
 And then I bow my head,
And ask, "How long, my Saviour,
 Ere I'm number'd with the dead?"

Oh, mother, dearest mother,
 The tears that I have shed,
Would make a little fountain,
 Since you've lain in your cold bed.

I do so miss you, mother;
 You were my joy and love;
Now you have gone and left me,
 To rest in Heaven above.

I try to live so meekly,
 And strive to bear my cross,
While I am journeying onward,
 And on life's billows toss.

Each day my sorrows deepen,
 While struggling to be free:
I sometimes cry in anguish—
 "Oh, mother, come to me!"

And yet no lov'd voice answers,
 Still I know she hears my cry;
For I oft times feel more happy
 When I know her spirit's nigh.

But all my tears, dear mother,
 And all my prayers for thee,
Can never bring you back again
 To this sad home and me.

My heart's o'erwhelm'd with sorrow,
 And ever longs for thee,
But I know thy spirit hovers
 With loving care o'er me.