Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/156

156  My head, and said in anguish,—"Oh my God!— —What is the beauty and the strength of man, His fairest promise, and his proudest powers Without thine aid?—So keep us from the sins Which in us lurk, that we at last may rise Where is no hurtful impulse, erring choice, Or dark temptation working baleful deeds For penitence to purge,—but Virtue dwells Fast by her Sire,—and finds a deathless joy."

 

Why gaze ye on my hoary hairs, Ye children, young and gay? Your locks, beneath the blast of cares, Will bleach as white as they.

I had a mother once, like you, Who o'er my pillow hung, Kiss'd from my cheek the briny dew, And taught my faltering tongue.

She, when the nightly couch was spread, Would bow my infant knee, And place her hand upon my head, And kneeling, pray for me.

But then, there came a fearful day, I sought my mother's bed, Till harsh hands bore me thence away, And told me she was dead. 