Page:More songs by the fighting men, soldier poets, second series, 1917.djvu/121

Rudolphe Louis Nègroz A happiness complete, without alloy

Of my sad Knowledge, Wisdom's minister.

Do I not know the bitter tinge to Life

Which Fate hath in your chaliced mother-heart

Mixed with maternal sweetness—the sharp knife

That stabs your peace—the cloud that doth impart

A darkness to each day—a child's affliction,

Bounding your every joy with stern restriction?

True, true it is I know your suffering, dear,

And that my knowledge never can attain

To utter understanding nor come near

With Sympathy your heights of holy pain.

Yet to be comforted you'll not refuse,

Knowing your Mother's heart can mine relieve;

So take this comfort: that your son will use

The gifts you gave him homage due to give

Unto your humble greatness—never pray

For richer boon than grace to sow these seeds

Of future fame, to tell a later day

All the eternal splendour of your deeds.

Thus may I crown a life of little worth

With the rich praise of her who gave me birth.

These gifts you gave on God's behalf, I wonder

How they are mine above all my deserving—

My life's path cluttered is with many a blunder

Nor Duty-guided in a course unswerving, 117