Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/159



Though loathsome sin, usurping grace, Should make my soul its dwelling place; Though Satan, with his host of flame, Combined to crush my spirit’s fame; I’d look to heav’n—avaunt despair! Because I have a Mother there.

Though man should couch foul slander’s dart To pierce with death my wounded heart; Though trusted friends, nay, all that’s dear Should flee my sight—without a tear, I’d waft on high an earnest prayer, Because I have a Mother there.

Though the poor beggar’s staff be mine, And all despise, I’ll not repine; Though hunger writes upon my cheek Its fatal mark, in Winter’s bleak; For heaven’s sake all this I’ll bear, Because I have a Mother there.