Poems (Ford)/Mother
For works with similar titles, see Mother.
POEMS.
MOTHER.
Mother! it is a charmed word, endowed with magic power
To soothe the sad and troubled soul in many a gloomy hour;
It sweeps the spirit's chords like songs of angels heard in dreams;
It opes the fountains of the heart, as Spring unlocks the streams.
To soothe the sad and troubled soul in many a gloomy hour;
It sweeps the spirit's chords like songs of angels heard in dreams;
It opes the fountains of the heart, as Spring unlocks the streams.
No voice like hers whose lullaby was o'er our cradle sung,
Can soothe the heart by sorrow's stern, cold hand too rudely wrung;
No hand like hers whose gentle touch in childhood banished pain,
Can fold the downy wings of sleep above the throbbing brain.
Can soothe the heart by sorrow's stern, cold hand too rudely wrung;
No hand like hers whose gentle touch in childhood banished pain,
Can fold the downy wings of sleep above the throbbing brain.
The world-worn spirit, wildly tossed by fortune's treacherous gale,
Sees, in the storm, the friends on whom its hopes were anchored fail;
And, seeking rest, as to the ark turned the wave-weary dove,
From smiling masks and hollow hearts turns to a mother's love.
Sees, in the storm, the friends on whom its hopes were anchored fail;
And, seeking rest, as to the ark turned the wave-weary dove,
From smiling masks and hollow hearts turns to a mother's love.
And, pausing o'er the cruel scorn of faithless friends to grieve,
Cries, "Mother! mother! yours the heart that never could deceive!
Oh, but to lay this aching head, childlike, upon your breast,
And, sobbing out my griefs, once more sink in your arms to rest!"
Cries, "Mother! mother! yours the heart that never could deceive!
Oh, but to lay this aching head, childlike, upon your breast,
And, sobbing out my griefs, once more sink in your arms to rest!"
The outlaw, bold and hard of heart, with dark and sin-stained soul,
O'er which the fiercely surging waves of passion madly roll,
Though he the great All-Father's love and mercy fails to see,
Can ne'er forget the childish prayer lisped at his mother's knee.
O'er which the fiercely surging waves of passion madly roll,
Though he the great All-Father's love and mercy fails to see,
Can ne'er forget the childish prayer lisped at his mother's knee.
While struggling on with weary feet to reach the cloudless land,
Though wrong, deceit, and dark distrust around us ever stand,
Thoughts of a mother's love lift up the head in anguish bowed,
And shine out through life's darkest woes like sunshine from a cloud.
Though wrong, deceit, and dark distrust around us ever stand,
Thoughts of a mother's love lift up the head in anguish bowed,
And shine out through life's darkest woes like sunshine from a cloud.
Her prayers, though long the mute, cold lips have lain beneath the sod,
Will ever seem like guiding stars to lead us home to God;
They follow us through joy and woe,—they reach o'er land and wave;
The first beside the cradle breathed, the last beside the grave.
Will ever seem like guiding stars to lead us home to God;
They follow us through joy and woe,—they reach o'er land and wave;
The first beside the cradle breathed, the last beside the grave.
Compared with hers, all other love is like an April day,
That folds its smiles and frowns at last in cold, gray mists away.
As boundless as the universe,—pure as the heaven above,—
Enduring as eternity,—such is a Mother's Love!
That folds its smiles and frowns at last in cold, gray mists away.
As boundless as the universe,—pure as the heaven above,—
Enduring as eternity,—such is a Mother's Love!