My Mother! With the angels now,
Life’s race completely run;
The Pilgrim’s cross is laid aside,
The Christian’s crown is won.
Full two-score years has thy frail bark
Relentlessly been driven,
Along the rugged shoals of time—
Now safely moored in heaven.
Some vision bright of Eden’s land—
Some glimpse from Nebo’s crest—
So ravished thy enraptured soul,
Then panting for its rest,
That when the City bathed in gold
Full burst upon your sight,
You would not tarry with us more;
Your spirit took its flight.
My Mother, when life’s sands run low,
In love, in kindness come,
And take the spirit of thy child,
And bid her “welcome home.”