Mill Notes—Mother and Daughter.

MILL NOTES.—MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

Mother.

COME lay your head upon my breast,
My darling, you are ill,
‘T is Satur’-night, and take your rest;
Forget awhile the mill.

You’ll have the time till Monday morn
To rest your weary head:
Oh! darling, sigh not so forlorn,
Nor look as you were dead.

Daughter.

I know the rose has left my check,
That once with freshness glowed;
Of things I now can rarely speak,
Which once my spirit moved:

But while I’m lying in your arms,
Dear mother, I am well;
Here I am safe from all alarms,
Nor hear the factory-bell.

Mother.

Sleep, then, loved one, I’ll guard thy rest,
And bless thy spirit mild:
As calmly now upon my breast
Thou liest as when a child.

The mother, with a mother’s love,
Long watched o’er her so calm,
Till nature from the realms above
Dropped down its heavenly balm.

Behold them there in that small room,
In one long, last embrace,
For gentle sleep hath sealed their doom,
And death hath left his trace!

O rich men, can you still enjoy
Wealth purchased at such cost,
Nor feel the canker of annoy,
Where so much good is lost?

The tale is one not overdrawn;
Blame not the poet’s lay,
Who would the oppressor thus forewarn
Against the judgment day.

And for the patient suffering poor,
The cause of mercy plead,
Bring faithfully before your door
The hearts you make to bleed.

In vain our churches we behold,
Their battlements and spires;
A curse is on the glittering gold,
The fool so much admires.

Professor of the lowly Christ,
What profits, then, your prayer,
If unrebuked within our midst
Such sins pollute the air?