---

Felicia Dorothea Hemans - To My Mother
Work rating: Low

IF e`er for human bliss or woe
	I feel the sympathetic glow;
	If e`er my heart has learn`d to know
	The gen`rous wish or pray`r;
	Who sow`d the germ, with tender hand?
	Who mark`d its infant-leaves expand?
	My mother`s fost`ring care.

	And if one flow`r of charms refin`d 
	May grace the garden of my mind;
	`Twas she who nurs`d it there:
	She lov`d to cherish and adorn
	Each blossom of the soil;
	To banish ev`ry weed and thorn,
	That oft oppos`d her toil!

	And, oh! if e`er I`ve sigh`d to claim
	The palm, the living palm of fame,
	The glowing wreath of praise;
	If e`er I`ve wish`d the glitt`ring stores,
	That fortune on her fav`rite pours;
	`Twas but, that wealth and fame, if mine,
	Round thee, with streaming rays might shine, 
	And gild thy sun-bright days!

	Yet not that splendor, pomp, and pow`r,
	Might then irradiate ev`ry hour;
	For these, my mother! well I know,
	On thee no raptures could bestow;
	But could thy bounty, warm and kind,
	Be, like thy wishes, unconfin`d;
	And fall, as manna from the skies,
	And bid a train of blessings rise,
	Diffusing joy and peace;
	The tear-drop, grateful, pure and bright,
	For thee would beam with softer light,
	
	Than all the diamond`s crystal rays,
	Than all the emerald`s lucid blaze;
	And joys of heav`n would thrill thy heart,
	To bid one bosom-grief depart,
	One tear, one sorrow cease!

	Then, oh! may heav`n, that loves to bless,
	Bestow the pow`r to cheer distress; 
	Make thee its minister below, 
	To light the cloudy path of woe;
	To visit the deserted cell,
	Where indigence is doom`d to dwell;
	To raise, when drooping to the earth,
	The blossoms of neglected worth;
	And round, with lib`ral hand dispense,
	The sunshine of beneficence!

	But, ah! if fate should still deny
	Delights like these, too rich and high;
	
	If grief and pain thy steps assail,
	In life`s remote and wintry vale;
	Then, as the wild Eolian lyre,
	Complains with soft, entrancing number,
	When the loud storm awakes the wire,
	And bids enchantment cease to slumber;
	So filial love, with soothing voice,
	E`en then, shall teach thee to rejoice;
	E`en then, shall sweeter, milder sound, 
	When sorrow`s tempest raves around;
	While dark misfortune`s gales destroy,
	The frail, mimosa-buds of hope and joy!
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.