Mother

Again your kindly, smiling face I see.—
Do I but dream? And do my eyes deceive?—
Again you whisper through the years to me,—
I feel the pressure of your lips at eve.—
I dream once more I sit upon your knee,—
And hear sweet counsel that I should not grieve;—
My hand in yours at twilight time as we—
Talk low, and I your sweet caress receive.—
At times I see your face with sorrow wrung,—
Until, somewhat confused, I scarce believe—
That I still dream. Your friends when you were young,—
Your own great hopes, your cheer and laughter free—
In some weird way are strangely haunting me.—
O mother of my childhood's pleasant days!—
Still whispering courage and dispelling fears—
In daylight hours or quiet moonlight rays,—
Are you a dream come from my younger years?—
Or do you really walk along the ways,—
And know my triumphs, or my inner tears,—
That quickly cease when you close by me seem?—
Let me sleep on, dear God, if I but dream.—
—
Again your kindly, smiling face I see.—
Do I but dream? And do my eyes deceive?—
Again you whisper through the years to me,—
I feel the pressure of your lips at eve.—
I dream once more I sit upon your knee,—
And hear sweet counsel that I should not grieve;—
My hand in yours at twilight time as we—
Talk low, and I your sweet caress receive.—
At times I see your face with sorrow wrung,—
Until, somewhat confused, I scarce believe—
That I still dream. Your friends when you were young,—
Your own great hopes, your cheer and laughter free—
In some weird way are strangely haunting me.—
O mother of my childhood's pleasant days!—
Still whispering courage and dispelling fears—
In daylight hours or quiet moonlight rays,—
Are you a dream come from my younger years?—
Or do you really walk along the ways,—
And know my triumphs, or my inner tears,—
That quickly cease when you close by me seem?—
Let me sleep on, dear God, if I but dream.