• Author: B-8266
• Editor: B-8266
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume V
• Page Number:
• Date: 11 13 1918
• Tags:
• poetry
• mother

MY MOTHER'S SONGS Of evenings, ere the lamps were lit; 'Twas then my mother used to sit, Singing a tender strain. And I, a laddie at her knee, -Oh, would to God that I might be, That laddie once again. Half-hearing; dreaming of the sea; Wild battles; all I meant to be; A knight without a stain. The crimson faded from the west; She sang the songs each loved the best, "Oh, woe for Barbara Allen!" And "Three times 'round went that gallant ship." -And in my sight she seemed to dip, Her proud masts downward fallen. And then, as Heaven's lamps shone out, And all the darkness seemed to rout; "Jerusalem the Golden." Her hand caressed my drooping head;"Tis time my laddie was in bed." She said, still softly singing: "By cool Siloam's shady rill." And I would beg another still: While evening bells were ringing. The moon swam up, a golden ball; On such blue-dish as I let fall, While to the table bringing. And I can see her still, to-day, Rocking in the moon's soft ray, To the cadence of the song: "Jesus, lover of my soul." All the bitter years unroll Before me, and the nights are long. Mother, mother, did you know, When you sang them long ago, They would bide, and keep me strong? B 8266