"I was then a slender stripling, Full of life, and hope, and joy; But, at once, the cares of manhood Crushed the spirit of the boy. "Woman oft than man is stronger Where are inner foes to quell, And my mother rose triumphant, When my father, vanquished, fell. "All we had we gave up freely, That on him might rest less blame; And, without a friend in London, In the winter, hither came. "To the world-commanding London, Came as atoms, nothing worth; 'Mid the strift of myriad workers, Our small efforts to put forth. "Oh, the hero-strength of woman, When her strong affection pleads, When she tasks her to endurance In the path where duty leads! "Fair my mother was and gentle, Reared 'mid wealth, of good descent, One who, till our time of trial, Ne'er had known what hardship meant. "Now she toiled. Her skillful needle Many a wondrous fabric wrought, Which the loom could never equal, And which wealthy ladies bought. "Meantime I, among the merchants Found employment; saw them write, Brooding over red-lined ledgers, Ever gain, from morn till night. "Or amid the crowded shipping Of the great world's busy hive, Saw the wealth of both the Indies, For their wealthier marts, arrive "So we lived without repining, Toiling, toiling, week by week; But I saw her silent sufferings By the pallor of her cheek. "Love like mine was eagle sighted; Vainly did she strive to keep All her sufferings from my knowledge, And to lull my fears to sleep. "Well I knew her days were numbered; And, as she approached her end, Stronger grew the love between us, Doubly was she parent--friend! "God permitted that her spirit Should through stormy floods be led, That she might converse with angels While she toiled for daily bread. "Wondrous oft were her communings, As of one to life new-born, When I watched beside her pillow, 'Twixt the midnight and the morn. "Still she lay through one long Sabbath, But as evening closed she woke, And like one amazed with sorrow, Thus with pleading voice she spoke: "'God will give whate'er is needful; Will sustain from day to day; This I know--yet worldly fetters Keep me still a thrall to clay! "'Oh, my son, from these world-shackles Only thou canst set me free!' 'Speak thy wish,' said I, 'my mother, Lay thy lov'd commands on me!' "As if strength were given unto her For some purpose high, she spake: 'I have toiled, and--like a miser-- Hoarded, hoarded for thy sake. "'Not for sordid purpose hoarded, But to free from outward blame, From the tarnish of dishonor, Thy dead father's sacred name, "'And I lay on thee this duty-- 'Tis my last request, my son-- Lay on thee this solemn duty Which I die and leave undone!