By Miss C.
Christian mother, when thy prayer,
Trembles on the twilight air,
And thou askest God to keep
In their waking and their sleep,
Those, whose love is more to thee
Than the wealth of land or sea —
Think of those who wildly mourn
For the loved ones from them torn.
Christian daughter, sister, wife,
Ye who wear a guarded life,
Ye, whose bliss hangs not, thank God,
On a tyrant's word or nod,
Will ye hear, with careless eye,
Of the wild, despairing cry,
Rising up from human hearts,
As their latest bliss departs.
Blest ones, whom no hands on earth,
Dare to wrench from home and hearth
Ye, whose hearts are sheltered well
By affection's holy spell;
Oh, forget not those for whom
Life is nought but changeless gloom!
O'er whose days, so woe-begone,
Hope may paint no brighter dawn.