Remembrance.

The grass is on thy grave, Mother,1
                        
                        And mony a year has fled2
                        
                        Since my heart grew sad and restless3
                        
                        At the thocht that ye were dead :4
                        
                        But oh !  I never will forget5
                        
                        Thy last sad look at me—6
                        
                        A look that only mother’s love7
                        
                        To mother’s een could gie.8
                        This is my birth-night, and unsocht,9
                        
                        Auld scenes flit o’er my brain ;10
                        
                        Close round our fire, on creepie-stools,11
                        
                        Ken’d faces smile again ;12
                        
                        Ay, tearfu’ een, and joyfu’ looks,13
                        
                        Around that fire I see—14
                        
                        Wee hearts a’ thrilled wi’ mother’s  ‘ tales’15
                        
                        O’ sorrow and o’ glee.16
                        Oh !  lowly was my bairnhood’s hame,17
                        
                        And poverty was there ;18
                        
                        But love shed brightness round the hearth,19
                        
                        And soothed a mother’s care—20
                        
                        A mother that made hame a spot21
                        
                        O’ sunshine aye to me ;22
                        
                        And bright within the past it lies23
                        
                        As moonlight on the sea.24
                        A widow’s hearth was thine, Mother,25
                        
                        Since first thy face I mind ;26
                        
                        And oh !  what weary toil was thine,27
                        
                        Our bread and claes to find :28
                        
                        Ay, weary toil—and hunger whiles,29
                        
                        That we nae pinch might feel,30
                        
                        For thy bairns were a’ thy riches,31
                        
                        An’ ye lo’ed them—oh, how weel !32
                        Oh !  my heart swells high within me,33
                        
                        And the tears rin frae my een,34
                        
                        As thy trials rise before me,35
                        
                        Now wi’ clearer vision seen—36
                        
                        Trials sair, but never spoken,37
                        
                        Though they pressed thy body doon—38
                        
                        Trials ken’d by nane but puir folk,39
                        
                        And the God that dwells aboon.40
                        But time brings unco changes ;41
                        
                        And that heart now kens nae pain ;42
                        
                        And the bairns wha shared its blessins43
                        
                        Now hae bairnies o’ their ain ;44
                        
                        And are blessed wi’ cozie dwellins,45
                        
                        Where a meal they aye can spare ;46
                        
                        And the een that fain would seen it,47
                        
                        Now are dimmed for evermair.48
                        The grass is on thy grave, Mother,49
                        
                        And mony a year has fled50
                        
                        Since my heart grew sad and restless51
                        
                        At the thocht that ye were dead :52
                        
                        But oh !  I never will forget53
                        
                        Thy last sad look at me—54
                        
                        A look that only mother’s love55
                        
                        To mother’s een could gie.56