Being His Mother.

A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

Being his mother - when he goes away
I would not hold him overlong, and so
Sometimes my yielding sight of him grows O
So quick of tears, I joy he did not stay
To catch the faintest rumor of them! Nay,
Leave always his eyes clear and glad, although
Mine own, dear Lord, do fill to overflow;
Let his remembered features, as I pray,
Smile ever on me! Ah! what stress of love
Thou givest me to guard with Thee thiswise:
Its fullest speech ever to be denied
Mine own - being his mother! All thereof
Thou knowest only, looking from the skies
As when not Christ alone was crucified.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Being His Mother.' by James Whitcomb Riley

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy