To My Revered Mother

My Parent, Guide, and Friend, how glows my heart,
When it contemplates thee! In every hour,
To Winter speeding, from the new-born flower
Of jocund Spring, — when all around was art,
That smil'd with treason — thy assiduous part
Was counsel; to avert, in Pleasure's hour
(Before the destin'd storm began to lour),
My fortune's wreck — nor from its plank would start
Thy generous vigilance, but flew to save
The relicks on the shore — the wounds to bind,
And blessing in affliction to discern:
Oh, full of years! be distant yet thy grave;
Nor leave the helpless Pilgrim here behind,
But into Heaven's bright mansion late return .
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