  O Mother, mourning for the son who keeps His last dread watch by unfamiliar streams, Or for that other, gay of heart, who sleeps Where the great waters guard his secret dreams, Amid your tears take comfort for a space, They showed them worthy of their island race. O Wife, who heard across the wintry sea Death's trumpet shrill for him who goes no more Riding at dawn with that brave company Whose fellowship no morning shall restore, In whose dark heart your bitterest hour shall bring Scents from the scattered petals of the spring. O Maid, with wondering eyes untouched of grief, War's dreadful shadow spares your innocent years, Yet shall you deem the ways of sunshine brief, Paying long hence your toll of hidden tears For love that perished ere the web was spun, And children that shall never see the sun. Ruth Duffin Joint Author, with Celia Duffin, of "The Secret Hill" By permission of the Author |
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