  Anxious if we were late, In winter by the window, In summer by the gate; And though we mocked her tenderly, Who had such foolish care, The long way home would seem more safe Because she waited there. Her thoughts were all so full of us, She never could forget! And so I think that where she is She must be watching yet, Waiting till we come home to her, Anxious if we are late-- Watching from Heaven's window Leaning from Heaven's gate. "Margaret Widdemer" Who fed me from her gentle breast And hushed me in her arms to rest, And on my cheek sweet kisses prest? My Mother. When sleep forsook my open eye, Who was it sung sweet lullaby And rocked me that I should not cry? My Mother. Who sat and watched my infant head When sleeping in my cradle bed, And tears of sweet affection shed? My Mother. When pain and sickness made my cry, Who gazed upon my heavy eye And wept, for fear that I should die? My Mother. Who ran to help me when I fell And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the part to make it well? My Mother. Who taught my infant lips to pray, To love God's holy word and day, And walk in wisdom's pleasant way? My Mother. And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee Who wast so very kind to me,-- My mother. When thou art feeble, old and gray, My healthy arm shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My mother. And when I see thee hang thy head, "Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed,-- My mother. "Jane Taylor"  Make me a child again just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore, Take me again in your heart as of yore, Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;-- Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep! Backward, flow backward, oh, tide of the years! I am so weary of toil and of tears-- Toil without recompense, tears all in vain-- Take them, and give me my childhood again! I have grown weary of dust and decay-- Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; Weary of sowing for others to reap;-- Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep! Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, O Mother, my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green, Blossomed and faded, our faces between: Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain, Long I to-night for your presence again. Come from the silence so long and so deep;-- Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep! Over my heart, in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shone; No other worship abides and endures-- Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours: None like a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;-- Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep! Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; Let it drop over my forehead to-night, Shading my faint eyes away from the light; For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; Lovingly, softly, it's bright billows sweep:-- Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep! Mother, dear Mother, the years have been long Since I last listened your lullaby song: Sing, then, and unto my sould it shall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream, Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face, Never hereafter to wake or to weep;-- Rock me to sleep, Mother-rock me to sleep! "Elizabeth Akers Allen" From The Echoless Shore What has so soon mingled frost in your hair? Why are you sorrowful? Why do you weep? And why do you ask me to "rock you to sleep"? Could you but see through this world's vale of tears, Light would your sorrows be, harmless your fears; All that seems darkness to you would be light, All would be sunshine, where now is but night. Follow me, cheerfully, pray do not weep; In spirit I'll soothe you, and "rock you to sleep," Why would you backward with time again turn? Why do you still for your childhood's day yearn? Weary one, why through the past again roam, While, in the future, the path leads you home? Oh, dearest child! dry those tears, weep no more, Call me not back from the echoless shore; In spirit I'll soothe you and "rock you to sleep." "unknown"
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