Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/363

330 Embrace us then, O dearest mother,
 * Press us well upon thy heart,

Our place accustomed, now and ever,
 * In joys, and when those joys depart,

Oh, what is there so good or precious
 * As a gentle mother's love?

On this earth, the only treasure
 * Sent us from the heavens above.

A.