Filial Claims

Who bendeth with meek eye, and bloodless cheekThus o'er the new-born babe? content to takeAs payment for all agony and pain,Its first soft kiss, its first breath on her brow,The first faint pressure of its tiny hand?It is not needful that I speak the nameOf that one being on this earth, whose loveDoth never faulter.

Answer me, young man,Thou, who thro' chance and change of time hast trodThus far, when some with vengeful wrath have mark'dThy waywardness, or in thy time of woeDeserted thee, or with a rainbow smileLur'd and forsook, or on thine errors scowl'dWith unforgiving memory,—did she?Thy Mother?Child! in whose rejoicing heartThe cradle-scene is fresh, the lulling hymnStill clearly echoed, when the blight of ageWithereth that bosom, where thine head doth lay,When pain shall paralyze the arm that claspsThy form so tenderly, wilt thou forget?Wilt thou be weary, tho' long years should askThe patient offices of love to girdA broken mind?Turn back the book of lifeTo its first page. What deep trace meets thee there?Lines from a Mother's pencil. When her scrollOf life is finish'd and the hand of DeathStamps that strong seal, which none but God can break,What should its last trace be?Thy bending formIn sleepless love, the dying couch beside,Thy tender hand upon the closing eye,Thy kiss upon the lips, thy prayer to Heaven,The chasten'd rendering of thy filial trust,Up to the white-wing'd angel ministry.