THE MOTHERLESS BABE.
Within his little cot he lay, his blue eyes opened wide. While restlessly his tiny hands he toss'd from side to side; Ah, vainly move the little tender palms, in vague unrest, Their "waxen touches" ne'er will press a soft maternal breast! Nor ever will that baby glance of innocent surprise Be answer'd by a look of love from fond maternal eyes; Nor yet the soft and crooning tones, so dear to mother's ears, Be met by her delighted smiles or sympathising tears!— Tho' other lips may smile on thee, and other eyes look kind, Throughout the world, poor babe, no other mother canst thou find! No other heart will make of thee its first and greatest joy, No pray'rs so true as hers will rise for blessings on "her boy!" Soft tho' thy couch and tendance be, ah! never wilt thou know The love that warms a mother's heart, the fondest love below!— And has that mother all forgot thee? say, from realms above, Can she look down and see the child she scarce had learn'd to love? Ah, doubt it not! the joys of Heav'n could never have beguil'd Her aching woman's heart from thee, her precious first-born child! Oft in thy dreams she'll visit thee, and whisper in thy ear All that a mother's thoughts could frame, of passionate and dear! And when thou wakest with a smile, from dreams of angels blest, Ah, little wilt thou know 'twas she that hover'd o'er thy rest! That brought thee from the spirit-world such visions pure and bright, And hush'd thy childish cares to rest, and sooth'd thy slumbers light. Her spirit o'er thy errant steps will ever watching flit; And when life's cares shall weigh on thee, and lonely thou may'st sit, Thou'll hear her whisper in the breeze, and feel upon thy head The soft caressing touch of one thou long hast mourn'd as dead! Tho' parted still in flesh, her soul will weary for thy sight, And wait for thee to join her in the realms of love and light. Then ever cherish in thy heart the hope to know above What thou canst never know below—thine own dear mother's love! And listen to her voice, that aye will speak thy heart within To bid thee cling unto the right, and keep thy soul from sin So thou may'st thro' this troublous world pass safe and undefil'd,— For He who marks the sparrow's fall will guard the orphan child!
—WYCH ELM.
Moeraki, November 23.
THE MOTHERLESS BABE.
Otago Witness, Issue 1932, 30 November 1888, Page 29
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