Classic Poem

I' VE heard her oft at the midnight hour,
When all was still beside,
And her voice alone on the silent air
Like music seemed to glide;
And I've hushed my breath to listen then,
In the holy silence there:
Oh! I never, never, can forget
My mother's voice in prayer.

I've heard her oft in my early days,
As she knelt beside my bed;
And I almost feel, this very hour,
Her hand upon my head.
I remember how I wondered then,
If angels hovered near;
And in my inmost soul I loved
My mother's voice in prayer.

I've seen her bowed in the holy place
Where the saints were met to pray,
And close with the echoing song of praise
The holy sabbath day.
I know by the gleaming of many an eye
Her form was welcome there,
And many a heart with mine has hailed
My mother's voice in prayer.

She has knelt by the bed of the dying saint,
As he drew near the shadowy vale,
And spoke of the promises dear and true,
Lest his faith in the Lamb should fail;
And the Master listened, I know, to her
Who knelt 'mid the sobbings there,
While the parting soul in triumph heard
My mother's voice in prayer.

I've heard her pray, in this trial hour,
For the land she loves the best,
That the dove of Peace might fold its wings
Once more on Freedom's breast.
She asked that the sons of worthy sires
For her might the armor wear,—
Ah! my country's call is blending with
My mother's voice in prayer.

I go to the field with a hopeful heart;
My mother has kissed me “Good-by:”
She will greet me with joy if I'm spared to return,
And smile through her tears if I die.
And I shall remember her in the camp,
And follow her teachings there;
For no siren song can drown the tones
Of my mother's voice in prayer.

When the scenes of battle mine eye shall view,
And the shot and shell fly fast,
I shall think of mother, her parting words,
And her look when I saw her last.
And afar above all the noise of strife,
Lifting off from my soul its care,
I shall hear, as the angels hear on high,
My mother's voice in prayer.

To my latest hour will those precious tones
In my memory sweetly sound,
While I walk the earth, and when, saved by Christ,
With the ransomed I am found.
Oh, yes! while the music of raptured saints
Stirs ever the heavenly air,
I shall hear in the chambers of my soul
My mother's voice in prayer.