  Through our lives’ mysterious changes, Through the sorrow-haunted years, Runs a law of Compensation For our sufferings and our tears. And the soul that reasons rightly, All its sad complaining stills, Till it learns that meek submission, Where it wishes not nor wills. Thus, in Sorrow’s fiery furnace Was a faithful mother tried, Till, through Love’s divinest uses, All her soul was purified. O ye sorrow-stricken mothers! Ye whose weakness feeds your pain! Listen to her simple story— Listen! and be strong again. “It was sunset—and the day-dream Of my life was almost o’er; For my spirit-bark was drifting Slowly, slowly from the shore. Through my vine-wreathed window shine, Faintly could I feel the pressure Of a strong hand clasping mine. “But anew the life-tide started, At my infant’s feeble cry; Back my spirit turned in anguish, And I felt I could not die. Deeper, darker fell the shadows, Like the midnight’s sable pall, And that infant cry grew fainter— Fainter—fainter—that was all! “Suddenly I heard sweet voices Mingling in a tender strain— All my mortal weakness left me, All my anguish and my pain. On my forehead fell the glory Of the bright, celestial morn, I was of the earth no longer, For my spirit was re-born. “Pure, sweet faces bent above me, Tenderly they gazed and smiled, And my Angel-Mother whispered, ‘Welcome, welcome home, my child! Sang the radiant angel band, ‘Welcome! O thou weary pilgrim! Welcome to the Spirit Land!’ “But, o’er all those glad rejoicings, Rose again my infant’s cry, For my heart had borne the echo Through the portals of the sky. And I murmured, O ye bright ones! Still my earthly home is dear; Vain are all your songs of welcome, For I am not happy here. “Strike your harps, ye white-robed Angels! But your music makes me wild, For my heart is with my treasure, Heaven is only with my child! Let me go, and whisper comfort To my little mourning dove— Life is cold; O, let me shield him With a mother’s tenderest love! “Swift there came a pure, white angel, Through the glory, shining far, In her hand she bore a lily, On her forehead beamed a star. Was the love-light in her eyes, Like the sunny smile of Summer, Beaming in the azure skies. “And she said, ‘O, mourning sister! Lo! thy prayer of love is heard, For the boundless Heart of Being By thine earnest cry is stirred. Heaven is life’s divinest freedom, And no mandate bids thee stay; Go, and as a star of duty, Guide thy loved one on his way. “‘Life is full of holy uses, If but rightly understood, And its evils and abuses May be stepping-stones to good. Never seek to weakly shield him, Or his destiny control, For the wealth that grief shall yield him, Is the birthright of his soul.’ “Musing deeply on her meaning, Turned I from the heavenly shore, And on love’s swift wings descending, Sought my earthly home once more. Sat with meek and quiet grace, With her heart’s great, wasting sorrow, Written on her pale, sweet face. “And she sang in dreamy murmurs, Bending o’er my Willie’s head, ‘Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed.’ Soft I whispered, ‘Dearest sister— Darling Willie—I am here.’ Sweetly smiled the sleeping infant, And the singer dropped a tear. “Thenceforth was my soul united To that life more dear than mine; And I prayed for strength to guide me, From the source of Life Divine. Slowly did I see the meaning In life’s purposes concealed— All the uses of temptation, Sin and sorrow, stood revealed. “Through my loved one’s youth and manhood, In the hour of sinful strife, I could see the nobler issues, And the grand design of life. By a mightier hand than mine, And a mother’s love was weakness, By the side of Love Divine. “Then I did not seek to shield him, Or his destiny control— Life, with all its varied changes, Was the teacher of his soul. Nay, I did not strive to alter What I could not make nor mend, For the love so full of wisdom, Could be trusted to the end. “I could give him |
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