Classic Poem

The clock in yonder old church tower
Proclaims the midnight deep —
The time when spirits have the power
To comfort those that weep.
Dear mother! from thy realm above
Canst thou my sorrow see?
And still with all a mother's love
Dost thou look down on me,
While here I'm sitting all alone,
Recounting scenes of yore,
Till with thine ev'ry look and tone
My heart is running o'er?

No form is present to mine eye,
No voice salutes mine ear,
And yet I feel, I know not why,
Thy spirit's hov'ring near.
This world became a solitude
The day we had to part,
For I've met none to whom I could
Unbosom all my heart.
It seems to me that thou, of all
On whom the sun did shine,
Hadst least of bitterness and gall,
And most of the divine.

Nor have I felt such holy joy
As when, beside thy knee,
A reverential little boy,
I said my prayers to thee.
And, oh, how oft in doubt and dread,
On life's tempestuous sea,
I've wish'd I could but lay my head
Once more upon thy knee,
And tell thee, as of old, I ween,
How life had gone with me,
And how the things that should have been
Were destin'd not to be.

Oft as the length'ning shadows steal,
At evening's holy hour,
Then, mother, as of old, I feel
Thy presence and thy power.
I feel thee in the Sabbath calm,
As if above me bending,
I hear thee in the simple psalm
That's to the heav'ns ascending.
A voice that speaks, " Let troubles cease! "
Marshals the way before me;
The very canopy of peace
Seems always hanging o'er thee.

Tho' in this lower world of sense,
By some mysterious law,
Thou seem'dst to live in realms immense
Of wonder, love and awe,
It was a strange, mysterious thing,
And not unmix'd with fear;
Thy very presence seem'd to bring
The spirit-world more near.
'Twas joy to watch how high the wave
Of love and hope could rise,
By looking in thy solemn, grave,
And meditative eyes.

The deeds that elevate our kind,
Through strength of Love or Will,
They seem'd in passing through thy mind
To grow more lovely still.
When some heroic deed was done,
Despite the world's disgrace,
Some battle for the right was won
Which honor'd all our race;
The words which then fell from thy tongue
Seem'd born of inspiration —
That with a veil of glory hung
O'er visible creation —

And taught my op'ning soul to feel
The power of moral beauty,
To walk erect, and never steal
Along the line of duty.
How strange thou wert condemned by God
To travel all alone,
Along a rough and weary road,
For errors not thine own!
Ah! nature all grew dark and drear
When death seal'd up thine eye,
And when I whispered in thine ear
And thou gav'st no reply.

And as I knelt beside thy bier
Sad were the tears I shed;
Something within distinct and clear
Said, " Mother is not dead! "
Which roused me up, as from a sleep,
From scales my vision freeing,
And gave my soul a wider sweep,
And broaden'd out my being.
Oh, how my spirit did expand —
Things never felt before,
And thoughts magnificent and grand,
Rush'd in at every pore,

And gave to me a perfect faith,
A blest assurance sweet,
That there's a region after death,
Where we again shall meet;
That, when upon this earthly plain
My weary race is run,
That we indeed shall meet again
As mother and as son!
For 'twould not be a heav'n to thee,
Nor yet to me, dear mother,
If there that we could never see
And recognize each other.

Oh, tell me! shall we have once more
Those simple, homelike feelings
We cherish'd so in days of yore,
With all their heart revealings?
Oh, tell me! are the dear ones there
To whom love's tie has bound us?
And are they still as dear and fair,
And aye to be around us?
Recounting over all the past,
The bud, the bloom, the blight,
Together dwelling all at last
By rivers of delight.