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Full Online Book HomePoemsTo A Young Mother On The Birth Of Her First-born Child
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To A Young Mother On The Birth Of Her First-born Child Post by :thehypnoguy Category :Poems Author :Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon Date :September 2011 Read :3328

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To A Young Mother On The Birth Of Her First-born Child

Young mother! proudly throbs thine heart, and well may it rejoice,
Well may'st thou raise to Heaven above in grateful prayer thy voice:
A gift hath been bestowed on thee, a gift of priceless worth,
Far dearer to thy woman's heart than all the wealth of earth.

What store of deep and holy joy is opened to thy thought--
Glad, sunny dreams of future days, with bliss and rapture fraught;
Of hopes as varied, yet as bright, as beams of April sun,
And plans and wishes centred all within thy darling one!

While others seek in changing scenes earth's happiness to gain,
In fashion's halls to win a joy as dazzling as 'tis vain--
A bliss more holy far is thine, far sweeter and more deep,
To watch beside thine infant's couch and bend above his sleep.

What joy for thee to ling'ring gaze within those cloudless eyes,
Turning upon thee with a glance of such sweet, strange surprise,
Or press a mother's loving kiss upon that fair, white brow,
Of all earth's weight of sin and care and pain unconscious now.

Then, as thy loved one's sleeping breath so softly fans thy cheek,
And gazing on that tiny form, so lovely, yet so weak,
A dream comes o'er thee of the time when nobly at thy side
Thy cherished son shall proudly stand, in manhood's lofty pride.

Yet a sad change steals slowly o'er thy tender, loving eye,
Thou twin'st him closer to thy heart, with fond and anxious sigh,
Feeling, however bright his course he too must suff'ring know,
Like all earth's children taste alike life's cup of care and woe.

But, oh! it lies within thy power to give to him a spell
To guard him in the darkest hour from sorrow safe and well;
Thou'lt find it in the narrow path the great and good have trod--
And thou thyself wilt teach it him--the knowledge of his God!

(The end)
Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon's poem: To A Young Mother On The Birth Of Her First-Born Child

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A Child's Treasures A Child's Treasures

A Child's Treasures
Thou art home at last, my darling one, Flushed and tired with thy play,From morning dawn until setting sun Hast thou been at sport away;And thy steps are weary--hot thy brow, Yet thine eyes with joy are bright,--Ah! I read the riddle, show me now The treasures thou graspest tight.A pretty pebble, a tiny shell, A feather by wild bird cast,Gay flowers gathered in forest dell, Already withering fast,Four speckled eggs in a soft brown nest, Thy last and thy greatest prize,Such the things that fill with joy thy breast, With laughing light

Interim Interim

The room is full of you!--As I came in And closed the door behind me, all at once A something in the air, intangible, Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!-- Sharp, unfamiliar odors have destroyed Each other room's dear personality. The heavy scent of damp, funereal flowers,-- The very essence, hush-distilled, of Death-- Has strangled that habitual breath of home Whose expiration leaves all houses dead; And wheresoe'er I look is hideous change. Save here. Here 'twas as if a weed-choked gate Had opened at my