Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/33

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Long ere I heard the sound. Hath she brought flowers? Nay, fear not now thy fond child's waywardness, My thoughtful mother!—in her chasten'd soul The passion-colour'd images of life, Which, with their sudden startling flush awoke So oft those burning tears, have died away; And night is there—still, solemn, holy night, With all her stars, and with the gentle tune Of many fountains, low and musical, By day unheard.

Mother.And wherefore night, my child? Thou art a creature all of life and dawn, And from thy couch of sickness yet shalt rise, And walk forth with the day-spring.

Lilian.Hope it not! Dream it no more, my mother!—there are things Known but to God, and to the parting soul, Which feels his thrilling summons. But my words Too much o'ershadow those kind loving eyes.