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James Whitcomb Riley - Being His Mother
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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.
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