Here you will find the Poem His Mother of poet Isabella Valancy Crawford
In the first dawn she lifted from her bed The holy silver of her noble head, And listened, listened, listened for his tread. 'Too soon, too soon !' she murmured, 'Yet I'll keep My vigil longer thou, O tender Sleep, Art but the joy of those who wake and weep! 'Joy's self hath keen, wide eyes. O flesh of mine, And mine own blood and bone, the very wine Of my aged heart, I see thy dear eyes shine! 'I hear thy tread; thy light, loved footsteps run Along the way, eager for that 'Well done !' We'll weep and kiss to thee, my soldier son! 'Blest mother I he lives! Yet had he died Blest were I still, I sent him on the tide Of my full heart to save his nation's pride!' 'O God, if that I tremble so to-day, Bowed with such blessings that I cannot pray By speech a mother prays, dear Lord, alway 'In some far fibre of her trembling mind! I'll up I thought I heard a bugle bind Its silver with the silver of the wind. '