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Poems: With a Sketch of the Life and Experience of Annie R. Smith

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    To My Mother


    My lot has been to roam
    Far from the cheering light of home,
    Mid scenes of commotion, turmoil and strife,
    Temptation and snares that beset this life.
    Oh! yonder I see a beacon light gleaming,
    O’er the dark wave its lustre is beaming,
    Dear mother! as the light to the mariner lost,
    So thou to the bark on the billow tossed.
    PSAS 31.5

    My lot has been to meet
    The bitter mixed with transient sweet;
    To struggle on, in toil and care,
    The tide of adverse fate to bear.
    Oh! yonder I see a tender vine, twining
    Around a tree, its tendrils are shining;
    Dear mother! as the vine twines around the tree,
    So from life’s rude blasts I cling to thee.
    PSAS 31.6

    My lot has been to feel
    Dark shadows o’er my spirit steal;
    From slanderous tongues, and envy’s wiles,
    Deceit that lurked ‘neath wreathing smiles.
    Oh! yonder I see the floweret’s hue;
    Reviving ‘neath the pearly dew.
    Dear mother! as the dew to the drooping flower,
    So thou to me in sorrow’s dark hour.
    PSAS 32.1

    My lot has been to learn
    Of friendship false, that bright will burn
    When fortune spreads her wing of light,
    But fades away when cometh night.
    Oh! yonder I see a bright star sparkling,
    While all around lies cold and darkling.
    Dear mother! as the star thou art in weal or wo,
    The darker the night, the brighter the glow.
    PSAS 32.2

    My lot has been to pore
    Learning’s classic pages o’er;
    Seeking for hidden pearls to wear,
    Fame’s golden wreath, the victors bear.
    PSAS 32.3

    Oh! yonder I see a lone bird flying,
    Seeking her nest with voice of sighing.
    Dear mother! as the wearied bird her downy nest,
    So seek I thee, for quiet rest.
    PSAS 32.4

    My lot is now to tread
    A troubled path whence light hath fled;
    But ne’er do I thy words forget,
    Or smiles of love from thee I’ve met.
    I think of thee in morning’s beaming light,
    In burning noon and shadowy night.
    Dear mother! mid all my thoughtless wanderings wild,
    Still clings to thee thy devoted child.
    PSAS 32.5

    Whate’er my future lot may be,
    On life’s tempestuous trackless sea,
    Oh, may I never, where’er I roam,
    Forget the cheering light of home,
    That blessed light to the wanderer given,
    To guide the way that leads to Heaven.
    Dear mother! to thee may I cling till life is o’er,
    And united above-we part nevermore.
    PSAS 33.1

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