Mother Poem by Kate Harrington


Aged eighty-four years.

In the voyage of life, 'mid its tempest and gale,
The glow of one beacon has never grown pale ;
It burst into flame at the hour of my birth,
And has since been the brightest, most steadfast on earth.
Other beamings, illusive, might lure to betray,
Other flames, evanescent, might smoulder away,
But the light that from infancy brightened and blessed
Was the love of the mother now called to her Rest.

Oh, the welcoming arms with their tender embrace,
The glance of affection that lighted her face,
The lips that so often have opened in prayer
That my feet might be guarded from pitfall and snare,—
All have passed from my sight, and are hidden away
In the gloom that encircles the spiritless clay ;
But the soul, —the immortal,— released from its bars,
Has laid down life's burden and leapt to the stars,
-Where the dear mother-love, all undimmed, unrepressed,
Will be ours again when we enter our Rest.

'Tis a comforting thought that earth's pathway was trod
From the morn of her life, with the people of God;
That when sorrow was deepest —when death sought her fold—
She reached up her hand for the Father to hold.
And we know that He clasped it, for, strengthened and sure,
Her faith made her feel in His promise secure
To the humble believer ; and long patient years
Of suffering were spent without doubtings or fears ;
And when, in Life's twilight, she asked for release,
When, wearied, she prayed that her waiting might cease,
The Saviour reached down as she slept on my breast,
Unloosened her fetters, and called her to Rest.

So quietly, softly, the summons was given,
We knew not our loss till the portals of heaven
Had oped to receive her, and waiting ones there
Had greeted her coming with anthem and prayer.
And she —oh ! she felt not our throbbings of pain,
Nor marked our wild wish to recall her again ;
For the voices of children, her darlings, her own,
Enchanted her soul with their rapturous tone,
While 'daughter!' 'wife!' 'sister!' from loved ones again
Broke soft on her spirit in joyful refrain.
Her pilgrimage ended and heaven possessed,
We, alone, feel the pang, she has entered her Rest.

Kate Harrington

Kate Harrington

Allegheny City, Pennsylvania
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