Years brightly pass'd; a cup of joy
Seem'd theirs, unmingled with alloy;
But oft Lorenza gazed with love
Upon the cherish'd, perfumed glove,
Whose ruby-clasp, and fragrance sweet,
Brought thoughts of him, to whom deceit,
And guile, and fickleness, alone
By their abhorrent names were known.
Oft too, he tenderly would chide
The fair bright being by his side,
That once, long since, in girlhood's days,
Tears had bedimm'd her dark eyes' rays,
As she sate musing, sad and lone,
And gazing on the ruby stone.
And then Lorenza, with a smile,
Would answer, ""Twas but for a while
I trembled; for I trusted, love,
THEE, and that precious STOLEN GLOVE."
Joy on the mother's brow,-
How happy and how bright,
How holy is the glow,
How sweet a spring of light!
From anxious love it springeth,
With grief and pain to cope,
And to her bosom clingeth,-
It is a MOTHER'S HOPE.
Though many a cloud of sorrow
May o'er her heart be cast,
Hope looketh on the morrow,
And turneth from the past;
Forms halos in her tears,
All beautiful and fair,
The tempest-drop that clears
Her bosom from despair.
Oh, when upon the breast
The smiling infant lies,
With many a kiss impress'd
In joyful ecstasies;
How deep, how sweet the feeling
Those moments can impart,
What new delight revealing
In rapture to the heart!
Holy, the mother's gaze
Upon her infant child;
Pure, as the seraph's blaze,
Where all is undefiled.
Angels from heaven would own
The beauty of that look,
And write her visions down
In God's eternal book.
And why? because they blend
With longings not of earth;
To loves and joys extend
That have in heaven their birth;
With all the sacred things
Alone to Woman given,
As never-failing wings,
To lift her up to heaven.
Yearnings of soul and mind,
Fond pantings of full bliss,
Those rays of love which find
Their focus in a kiss;
These things, the angels know,
Belong not to their sphere,
And full of joy would throw
Their smile upon them here.
When like a budding rose
Unfolding in the wind,
Each feeling would disclose
The never-dying mind;
How sweet the breath to greet,
Of heart-awakened sighs,
How sweet the smiles to meet,
Of soul-illumined eyes.
This is the mother's joy
For all the meed of pain,
She felt for her sweet boy,
And fain would feel again;
And as emotion swells,
Like music in her breast,
Her smile of rapture tells
How proud she is, how blest.
Then as the flower expands,
Its altar is her knee;
And there its little hands
Are raised, Lord, to Thee,
There offers it each day,
The first-fruits of its youth,
And learns to know the way
Of righteousness and truth.
How sweet the hope is, then,
The anxious mother feels;
How dear the bliss is, when
Some token-bud reveals,
That Grace is working in
Its nature rude and wild,
To stay the taint of sin-
That God is with her child.
|