THE ADIEU. 95 



The anxious mother, when her child 



Its life's short path has trod, 

 'Mid many a tear and accent wild, 



Resigns it to her God : 

 Its little hands, long press'd in her's, 



No more their grasp renew ; 

 Its little breast no longer stirs : 



How woful her Adieu ! 



Or if the boy desert his home, 



And seek a trackless road 

 To wealth and fame, o'er ocean's foam, 



Still, still she prays to God 

 To guard him on the weltering wave, 



When farthest from her view. 

 From peril and from death to save : 



How prayerful her Adieu ! 



And, oh ! the wife whose husband flies. 



At some stern leader's nod, 

 To face the cannon's mouth : her cries. 



Her prayers are unto God, 



