A MOTHER'S EYE.

Southland Times, Volume III, Issue 210, 31 January 1866, Page 3

A MOTHER'S EYE.

BY JOHN G. SJSITH, This world hath, pleasures ani charms enou', It hath wreathes to deck the warrior's brow ; It hath stars, and crowns, and jewelled things To sate the pride and the pomp of kings. It hath priceless gems, and wealth untold, It hath lands and titles and shining ; But, nothing it hath, can ever vie, \ With the love that beams from a mother's eye. The flowers we love in our youth decay,' Their rainbow glories fade away ; And fond remembrance tries in vain, " To trace their beautious forms again. Such as they seemed when life was new, And joys were rife, and griefs were few ; But 'mid the wreck we can aye descry, The radiant love of a mother's eye. In yonder land where the palm-trees wave Their quivering leaves o'er the toil-worn slave i O'er the hissing lash and the rattling chain, The mangled hmb and the tortured brain. O'er hell- born wrong 3 that have all but effaced Affection's form from the dark man's breast ; From the fathomless depths of the heart-heaved L si gh» The love tears fall from a mother's eye. From hoary Greenland's ice-bound steep, To the myriad isles of the southern deep, Lives there a being, since time began, Who boasts the name and the soul of man. Whatever his creed, his clime, or his hue, Be he Pagan false, or Christian true ; Who feels not all mem'ries fade and die But one — the love of a mother's eye. Oh! 'tis not vain, we have felt its power, In the darksome shades of afflictions' hour ; When friends' were false, and the world waa ' [drear, And the heart, like autumn leaves, was sere. When the billows heaved, and our barque waa [tossed, When joy was set, and hope was lost ; Thro' the tempest clouds that hid the sky, Our star beamed bright — our mother's eye. Long years have fled since the grave-mould fell O'er the slumbering form we loved so well j Long years have fled since the violet's bloom, Shed tears of dew on her early tomb. And years may fleet o'er our pilgrim path, Ere we rest in the lonesome bed of death ; But our wanderings o'er, we will bask on high, 'Neath the angel-love of a mother's eye. Invercargill, January 22, 1866.