TO MOTHER - by Fay Inchfawn

TO  MOTHER    by Fay Inchfawn      I would that you should know,      Dear mother, that I love you - love           you so!      That I remember other days and years;      Remember childish joys and childish fears.      And this, because my baby's little hand      Opened my own heart's door and made           me understand.      I wonder how you could      Be always kind and good!      So quick to hear; to tend      My smallest ills; to lend      Such sympathising ears      Swifter than ancient seer's.      I never yet knew hands so soft and kind,      Nor any cheek so smooth, nor any mind      So full of tender thoughts. . . . Dear           mother, now      I think that I can guess a little how      You must have looked for some response,           some sign,      That all my tiresome wayward heart was           thine.      And sure it was! You were my first dear           love!      You who first pointed me to God above;      You who seemed hearkening to my lightest           word,      And in the dark night seasons always           heard      When I came trembling, knocking at your           door.      Forgive me, mother, if my whims outwore      Your patient heart. Or if in later days      I sought out foolish unfamiliar ways;      If ever, mother dear, I loosed my hold      Of your loved hand; or, headstrong,           thought you cold,      Forgive me, mother! Oh, forgive me,           dear!      I am come back at last - you see me           here,      Your loving child. . . . And, mother,           on my knee      I pray that thus my child may think of           me !