Sometimes my heart grows sad and sick
When to the past I turn,
And for a sweet and gentle voice
To call me _mother_ yearn.
I see the silver in my hair,
The lines upon your brow,--
And oh, I wish our boy had lived
To be our comfort now!

One moment--then the wish is o'er:
The sun begins to shine;
I lift my heart in thankfulness,
And say, "Thy will is mine."
'Tis true, of poverty and pain
We both have had our share,
But do you think in all the world
There is a happier pair?

I know the harvest-time is near,--
I know the Reaper stands
Before us, and I tremble much
Lest he unlock our hands
But God will be our strength and shield,
Our refuge in that hour;
And he will join our hands again
Beyond the Reaper's power.

Now let me wipe away those tears;
Forget my gloomy talk,