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THE PRISONER'S ADDRESS TO HIS MOTHER.
1. MY MOTHER! Can there be
shall rest on these two words, whose heart can fail to respond — my mother! Sweet, gentle, tender, and full of love, comes to us that melting term; and hard, indeed, must that heart be which can resist its influence. Even those who have never known a mother's care, cannot have refrained from the indulgence of imaginings of all that she might have been ; and the influence of those dreams of what they have been deprived must have been for good,- for the contemplation alone of what is lovely in character, or endearing in its relations to us, has the effect to soften the heart and make it better.
2. If then there is a holy, hallowed atmosphere thrown around the simple relation of mother, how much more powerful does that influence become when extending over our infant years, moulding the character and forming the habits. And, if the heart should for a moment prove truant, and the hour of temptation should be too powerful for the else controlling hand of habit and principle, how does the angel spirit of a mother's teachings breathe upon the soul, and lead it back to repentance and virtue. Witness the testimony of one who has sunk low, indeed, in misery and vice, and listen to the penitent prisoner's address to his long-lost mother.
3. I've wandered far from thee, mother,
Far from our happy home;
In other climes to roam ;
And marked them on my brow,
I'm thinking of thee now.
THE PRISONER'S ADDRESS TO HIS MOTHER.
4. I'm thinking of those days, mother,
When, with such earnest pride,
And pressed me to your side ;
With hopes of future joy,
To deck thy“ darling boy.”
5. I'm thinking on the day, mother,
I left thy watchful care,
To heaven — thy trust was there !
When tears fell o'er thy cheek,But thy last, loving, anxious look,
Told more than words could speak.
6. I'm far away from thee, mother;
No friend is near me now,
Nor cool my burning brow.
Are all now torn from me ;
They did not love like thee.
7. I would not have thee know, mother,
How brightest hopes decay,
Has dashed them all away ;
To rack with anguish wild ;
The sorrows of thy child !
8. I'm lonely and forsaken now,
Unpitied and unblest -
How sadly I'm distressed ;
I know thou wouldst not chide, mother,
Thou wouldst not give me pain,
And bid me hope again.
9. I know thy tender heart, mother,
Still beats as warm for me
To cross the broad blue sea ;
And I long to hear thee speak,
Upon my care-worn cheek.
10. But ah! there is a thought, mother,
Pervades my beating breast,
To its eternal rest!
There whispers in my ear
And bids me seek thee there.
And wives were more than some now seem
In strength and heart; Of late, enslaved by flood and steam,
They work apart!
3. But though thy body-guard be gone,
And thou art left at home alone,
With work to do;
And tailors, too.
4. Thou hast a patent-right to bless,
Which Yankee wit can ne'er make less;
With all its crowing,
Than simple sewing.
5. In truth it is thy glorious feat
To make creation's work complete :
Than that thy power
And be her dower?
6. They talk about a bow or quiver,
Hearts wounded by them to a fever,
Such is the riddle;
Without the needle.
7. The real darts, I must declare,
Which pierce us from the real fair,
Are needles threaded,
Or would be, wedded.
8. I envy not the latest fashion,
In which the latest fool may dash on,
And which the tailor makes the cash on,
If but my fate is
Has made me gratis.
9. What if the fit be not commended,
Nor be the finish extra splendid !
'T will fit the wearer ; And even if the coat be mended,
’T will grow the dearer.
10. Show me the wife that's on the watch For every
little rent or scratch,
Before you know it,
A lord or poet.
11. Than home no place can more delight her ;
Her heart is bright; her smile is brighter ;
And his the most
Her pride and boast.
12. Here I must leave thee, queen of hearts,
To shoot thy polished, barbless darts,
With skill creative;
Was well a native.
13. If sin it was that gave thee birth,
No less for that is now thy worth;
Its wrong to mend;
The warmest friend.
14. While love has happiness to make,
Thy crown no man shall ever take,