The Childless Mother Poem by Francis Turner Palgrave

1700-1702

Oft in midnight visions
Ghostly by my bed
Stands a Father's image,
Pale discrowned head:--
--I forsook thee, Father!
Was no child to thee!
Child-forsaken Mother,
Now 'tis so with me.

Oft I see the brother,
Baby born to woe,
Crouching by the church-wall
From the bloodhound-foe.
Evil crown'd of evil,
Heritage of strife!
Mine, an heirless sceptre:
His, an exile life!

--O my vanish'd darlings,
From the cradle torn!
Dewdrop lives, that never
Saw their second morn!
Buds that fell untimely,--
Till one blossom grew;
As I watch'd its beauty,
Fading whilst it blew.

Thou wert more to me, Love,
More than words can tell:
All my remnant sunshine
Died in one farewell.
Midnight-mirk before me
Now my life goes by,
For the baby faces
As in vain I cry.

O the little footsteps
On the nursery floor!
Lispings light and laughter
I shall hear no more!
Eyes that gleam'd at waking
Through their silken bars;
Starlike eyes of children,
Now beyond the stars!

Where the murder'd Mary
Waits the rising sign,
They are laid in darkness,
Little lambs of mine.
Only this can comfort:
Safe from earthly harms
Christ the Saviour holds them
In His loving arms:--

Spring eternal round Him,
Roses ever fair:--
Will His mercy set them
All beside me there?
Will their Angels guide me
Through the golden gate?
--Wait a little, children!
Mother, too, must wait!