Lydia Howard Sigourney



The Only Daughter

by Lydia Howard Sigourney

Oh mother! if that cherished form,
Long to thy soul so dear,
Returns no more, to gild the storm,
Or check the flowing tear,

If the fond hope that firmer grew
'Mid changeful joys and fears,
No longer with its sparkling dew
Must light thy lonely years,

Drink deep of memory's gushing spring,
For well its brink is drest,
With fragrant plants, whose blosoming
May soothe thy wounded breast.

Breathe, too, of faith, that richer balm
Which o'er her spirit shed
A tranquil smile, a sabbath calm,
In the last hour of dread.

Oh Christian mother! since no more
The yoke of pain she bears,
Nor shrinking treads this stranger shore
Beset with thorns and cares,

Give thanks for her eternal health
For her unclouded day,
Unsullied robes, unrusting wealth,
That cannot fleet away.

And in that dear Redeemer's love
Which none shall trust in vain,
Take refuge, till in heaven above
Thou meet'st thine own again.


The Weeping Willow
Copyright 1847
Henry S. Parsons, Hartford.