Poems (Browning)/Mother—The Song

Mother
The Song

The organist begins his theme—
He strikes the essence of his dream,
A single, pealing, throbbing note;
Then slowly, as a singing flute,
The thought mounts forth to higher plane—
We hear the symphony begun;
The music swells in deeper tone,
The dream is ever leading on
To greater depths of harmony,
And clearer, sweeter melody;
At last the promise is fulfilled,
The song is mute, the organ stilled.

Mother,
Whose face to me the rising sun
That glad bespeaks each day begun;
Whose rays of cheer the days unfold
As tender blossoms on the wold;
Your light of love beams ever true,
That shines upon each day anew,
Mother.

Mother,
Whose soul to me a glowing star
That through earth's clouds shines on afar;
No more can we stars distance space
Than Mother's loving heart replace
With earthly wealth of human love;
Your soul is from the Great Above,
Mother.