O memory of a mother gone!
Whene'er with others, or alone,
I hear or breathe that sacred name,
May it allure the hallowed flame
To shine on thee, and lead thy son
Into a better life, begun
Unworthy that which hath been done.
For him and all, and us anon,
In course of life I hear the knell
Of mournful, solemn funeral bell,
Or see the deep black drapings flow
Of funeral cortege moving slow.
Or, when the sombre weeds I don,
May they of warning not be lone,
But freely tell, in solemn truth,
The waning of my boasted youth;
That ere a while those rites shall be
Obsequies fashioned over me.
Then heedless, hasty spirit, pause
To learn and know the better cause
Wherefore ye live, and freely ask
Of wisdom for a fitter task.