The Dead Mother Poem by Alexander Anderson

The feeble infant, but an hour in life,
Lay wailing in our arms, while on the bed
Slept, like a faded flower, the one year's wife,
With all her mother's first sweet feelings, dead.


She slept; and on her lips, all shrunk and white,
A smile lay faint, as when a sunbeam lies
Upon a wither'd leaf, then pass'd away
In the dark sorrow of her drooping eyes.


Her hands were folded in a quiet rest
Upon her bosom fair, and round, and smooth,
As if in death she held to that fair breast
The first fond pledge of wedded love and youth.


Ah me! what wealth of love and soft appeal,
With all the holiest of human bands,
Lay silent in that breast, no more to feel
The soothing touch of little lips and hands.


Even as we gazed, upon her cold, still face,
Grew forth a yearning wish some boon to grant,
As if her spirit had heard from its high place
Lips moaning still for all their earliest want.


Each look'd at each, as one who understands;
We rose with tortured thoughts in our despair,
And from her breast unwound her claspéd hands,
And laid the infant for a moment there.


It might be fancy, but we thought her face
Grew bright, and that her pitying eyelids shone
With large, glad tears that left a dewy trace;
But these might fall in sorrow from our own.


Then kneeling, in our hearts like some sweet psalm
Rose up the past with all its tender seal,
While the near future came and laid its balm
Upon that life those dead arms could not feel—


That little one which through our tears we saw
Moving its tiny fingers all around,
While lips that could not use their gentle law
Moan'd—and no mother's voice to soothe their sound.


Dust unto dust; we rose and softly took
The helpless one away, and with hush'd breath
Reclasp'd her hands, then bent for one last look,
Kiss'd the cold lips, and left the rest to death.


O human hearts, this world is God's, and we
Who walk within the glory of His smile
Grow blind at times with such great light, nor see
How all works unto fruitful ends the while;


This world is God's, and in each heart-eclipse
Shadows but rise that faith and hope may view
Through the tear-rainbow'd gloom, with praising lips,
His finger from the heavens pointing through.