Vii

"For me, poor me, no hope to learn That sweeter bliss than Paradise, The joy that makes a mother yearn O'er that bright message from the skies Her pains do earn.

She stoops entranced; she fears to stir, Or think; lest each a thought endanger (While two enraptured hearts confer) That wonderful and wondering stranger, Come home to her,

"He watches her, in solemn style; A world of love flows to and fro; He smiles; that he may learn to know His mother by her smile.