Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/183

 “Mother! the faith that guides to God
 * Will bring your soul to me;

There is no other certain way
 * Your cherub child to see.

Close not your ears to this appeal
 * That calms all human strife,

Making the gloomy grave itself
 * The Golden Gate of Life!

“The love that shall not lose its own
 * Must seek celestial fire—

Must light its torch by Heavenly flame,
 * And not the Pagan pyre.

Mother! dear mother! hear your child,
 * And let her win you where

The King of Glory sits enthroned
 * With ‘angels bright and fair.’

“And when the hour shall come for you
 * To bid the world farewell,

I shall be hovering o’er your couch
 * To hear the dying knell;

And you shall see me, robed in white,
 * With the red-breast in my hand,

Thrilling to guide you gently on
 * To the Eternal Land!”