Freely let the tear-drops flow, Tears of love, like showers of Spring; In thy heart Love’s flowers shall grow, And shall sweetest comfort bring. Fear not, if _those_ features fade, If thy tears _their_ form shall dim; Prayers ascend, while thou art laid Murmuring soft thy Evening Hymn. _Living_ lips, no _artist_ made, Nor the _sun-ray’s_ magic might, In thy Mother’s home have prayed To thy God for thee to-night. Angels fly from her to thee; Thee and her good Angels tend; So your Father bids, and He Will your dear ones all defend. Press her Picture to thy heart; Smile upon it through thy tears; Never let that love depart Through the changing, coming years. Sacred is the Mother’s love, Dear to God the loving son; Thou shalt be with her above, When the work of life is done. T. S. P. ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL, _Feb. 17, 1878._ * * * * * Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. * * * * * _All Rights Reserved._ End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art,, by Various