A MOTHER'S LOVE.
A MOTHER'S Love, — how sweet the name! What is a Mother's Love? — A noble, pure, and tender flame, Enkindled from above, To bless a heart of earthly mould; The warmest love that can grow cold; This is a Mother's Love.
Lays for the sabbath : a collection of religious poetry / compiled by Emily Taylor ; revised, with additions, by John Pierpont [electronic text]
About this Item
- Title
- Lays for the sabbath : a collection of religious poetry / compiled by Emily Taylor ; revised, with additions, by John Pierpont [electronic text]
- Editor
- Taylor, Emily, 1795-1872, Pierpont, John, 1785-1866
- Publication
- Boston, Mass.: Walker, Wise, & co.
- 1860
- Rights/Permissions
The University of Michigan Library provides access to these materials for educational and research purposes. These materials are in the public domain in the United States. If you have questions about the collection please contact Digital Content & Collections at [email protected], or if you have concerns about the inclusion of an item in this collection, please contact Library Information Technology at [email protected].
DPLA Rights Statement: No Copyright - United States
- Link to this Item
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http://name.umdl.umich.edu/BAE6139.0001.001
- Cite this Item
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"Lays for the sabbath : a collection of religious poetry / compiled by Emily Taylor ; revised, with additions, by John Pierpont [electronic text]." In the digital collection American Verse Project. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/BAE6139.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 30, 2025.
Pages
Page 45
To bring a helpless babe to light, Then, while it lies forlorn, To gaze upon that dearest sight, And feel herself new-born, In its existence lose her own, And live and breathe in it alone; This is a Mother's Love.
Its weakness in her arms to bear; To cherish on her breast, Feed it from Love's own fountain there, And lull it there to rest; Then, while it slumbers, watch its breath, As if to guard from instant death; This is a Mother's Love.
To mark its growth from day to day, Its opening charms admire, Catch from his eye the earliest ray Of intellectual fire; To smile and listen while it talks, And lend a finger when it walks; This is a Mother's Love.
And can a Mother's Love grow cold? Can she forget her boy? His pleading innocence behold, Nor weep for grief — for joy? A Mother may forget her child, While wolves devour it on the wild; — Is this a Mother's Love?
Ten thousand voices answer, "No!" Ye clasp your babes and kiss;
Page 46
Your bosoms yearn, your eyes o'erflow; Yet, ah! remember this; The infant, rear'd alone for earth, May live, may die, — to curse his birth; — Is this a Mother's Love?
A parent's heart may prove a snare; The child she loves so well, Her hand may lead, with gentlest care, Down the broad road to hell — Nourish its frame, destroy its mind; Thus do the blind mislead the blind, E'en with a Mother's Love.
Bless'd infant! whom his mother taught Early to seek the Lord, And pour'd upon his dawning thought The day-spring of the word; This was her lesson to her son, — Time is eternity begun: Behold that Mother's Love.
Bless'd Mother! who, in wisdom's path, By her own parent trod, Thus taught her son to flee the wrath, And know the fear of God: Ah! youth, like him enjoy your prime, Begin eternity in time, Taught by that Mother's Love.
That Mother's Love! — how sweet the name! What was that Mother's Love? — The noblest, purest, tenderest flame, That kindles from above,
Page 47
Within a heart of earthly mould, As much of heaven as earth can hold, Nor through eternity grows cold: This was that Mother's Love.