And soft will steal the twilight hour,
    And bring again my watch for thee;
  Oh, who may tell a mother’s love,
    Or fathom that unbounded sea?

  Time, that has pass’d with rapid flight,
    On silent pinions, hurrying by,
  Has witness’d oft the midnight watch,
    Of the fond mother’s earnest eye.

  In infancy, when feverish dreams
    Disturb’d her darling as he slept,
  How anxious was the mother’s watch,
    As she her nightly vigil kept.

  Her watch is o’er the cradle cast,
    Through childhood’s wild and flow’ry maze;
  Her hand would lead through youth’s gay scenes,
    And smooth the path of riper days.

  Would shield from each impending ill,—­
    Would guard from ev’ry dang’rous snare. 
  Instruct the reason, curb the will,
    And lift to heaven the trusting prayer.

  And should the pois’nous flowers that bloom
    Beside his path, tempt him to rove,
  To bring the thoughtless wanderer back,—­
    How earnest is a mother’s love.

  And so we watch from youth to age,—­
    From the soft cradle to the grave;
  No power can check a mother’s love,
    That would from sin and sorrow save.

Why Should I Smile?

  Why should I smile in mockery now,
  When grief sits heavy on my brow? 
  Or strive in anguish to repress
  The tears of gushing tenderness,
  That from my heart’s deep fountain rise,
  And rush unbidden to my eyes? 
  Oh let me weep, for there’s a balm
  In tears, they bring a holy calm: 
  And yield a soothing, sweet relief
  To hearts that else would burst with grief. 
  Yes, I will weep in hopeless woe,
  Until my tears refuse to flow;
  For lo! before my mental gaze,
  The hopes and joys of other days,
  Come gathering round, a mystic band,
  Like phantoms from the spirit land;
  And one by one they pass me by,
  “With bloodless cheek and hollow eye,”
  And seem to mock me as they go,
  In tones of bitterness and woe. 
  Oh, how unlike the glittering throng
  That smiling beckon’d me along,
  And strewd with fragrant flow’rs my way,
  In childhood’s bright and sunny day. 
  They came in glittering robes arrayed,
  O’er golden harps their fingers strayed,
  And from their robes of spotless white
  They scattered showers of sparkling light. 
  O, how could my fond heart believe
  They glittered only to deceive;
  To visions bright as fairy land. 
  Hope pointed with her magic hand,
  And love, with soft and speaking eye,
  And tones of thrilling witchery,
  A dream like mist around me threw,
  Ting’d by many a rainbow hue. 
  And friendship, with her smiling face,
  Clasped me within her warm embrace,
  And fondly whisper’d in mine ear,
  Sweet words of hope I loved to hear. 
  And O, how fondly did I fling
  On friendship’s shrine, the offering
  Of my young heart:  nor could I deem
  Her words were but an idle dream;
  But oh, the illusion fled too late,
  It left my heart all desolate.