Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/158

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And with it breathed a voice of care As from the lowly sod, "My son—my only one— beware!    Nor sin against thy God."

Ye think, perchance, that age hath stole My kindly warmth away, And dimm'd the tablet of the soul;— Yet when with lordly sway,

This brow the plumed helm display'd    That guides the warrior throng; Or beauty's thrilling fingers stray'd    These manly locks among,

That hallow'd touch was ne'er forgot!— And now, though Time hath set His frosty seal upon my lot, These temples feel it yet.

And if I e'er in heaven appear, A mother's holy prayer, A mother's hand, and gentle tear. That pointed to a Saviour dear, Have led the wanderer there.

 

Thou, who dost teach the human heart to glow At other's joys, or melt in other's wo, Thou, holy Friendship, whose benignant power, Disarms of grief the temporary hour, 