My Mother's Kiss.

My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss,          I feel its impress now;      As in the bright and happy days          She pressed it on my brow.      You say it is a fancied thing          Within my memory fraught;      To me it has a sacred place -          The treasure house of thought.      Again, I feel her fingers glide          Amid my clustering hair;      I see the love-light in her eyes,          When all my life was fair.      Again, I hear her gentle voice          In warning or in love.      How precious was the faith that taught          My soul of things above.      The music of her voice is stilled,          Her lips are paled in death.      As precious pearls I'll clasp her words          Until my latest breath.      The world has scattered round my path          Honor and wealth and fame;      But naught so precious as the thoughts          That gather round her name.      And friends have placed upon my brow          The laurels of renown;      But she first taught me how to wear          My manhood as a crown.      My hair is silvered o'er with age,          I'm longing to depart;      To clasp again my mother's hand,          And be a child at heart.      To roam with her the glory-land          Where saints and angels greet;      To cast our crowns with songs of love          At our Redeemer's feet.