MOTHER weep! the heart is flesh;
Wounds will bleed while they are fresh;
Gentlest hands, the flower, may crop
Tears will trickle, drop by drop.
Yet, weep not! that darling child,
Like a bird, as sweet and wild,
Has but winged her winter flight,
To the land of life and light.
There, she builds her blessed nest,
In the gentle Saviour's breast
While, that flute-like voice, she tries,
In celestial symphonies.
Mothers' tears lie near the lid
Mothers' tears can not be hid
This, the thought, to dry their eyes--
One more song, in Paradise!