But there is one being on earth to whom I would bring the early efforts of my spirit, to whose name I would sing my first song, and over whose soul I would pour the melody of my undying love. And so, feeble, crude, and imperfect though it be, I bring my song and sing it to MY MOTHER. Dear mother, when I found that I was dead, And that my soul had passed beyond the tomb, The first few, feeble words my spirit said Were: “Mother’s heart is bowed in sadd’ning gloom; And so I cannot leave her till you bring A balm of healing from the world above, And o’er the anguish of her spirit fling A perfect peace from God’s eternal love.” And so the angel forms who met me there Brought rest and consolation to thy heart, Which, in the hour of holy, sacred prayer, Found heavenly peace that never can depart. Then from the scenes of earth I turned awhile To roam with spirit feet through realms above, Where all receive our heavenly Father’s smile, And bask within the sunlight of His love. A perfect “home not made with hands” is there, But built by loving words and kindly deeds; A heavenly heritage of beauty, where The spirit finds each attribute it needs; And friendly faces throng the open door, With hands out-stretched in welcome to the soul Who turns in gladness from the earthly shore, And seeks to gain perfection’s heavenly goal. Oh, mother! kind and true the angel friends Who cluster round me at the open gate; My soul with theirs in perfect concord blends, As patiently for thee we watch and wait; We guard thee with the deathless light of love, We bless thee with the calm of holy peace, We guide thy spirit on to realms above, Where sad heart-longings shall forever cease. The heavenly fields are fair with glistening green, And gemmed with blossoms of immortal bloom, That beautify the sweet enchanting scene, And scent the breezes with their sweet perfume; The sunlight smiles, and waters flow in glee, The woods reveal new depths of light and shade; The song-birds warble in each leafy tree, Or scatter dewdrops in the flowery glade. All life is gladness, and the spirit grows In perfect harmony with God above, And, catching higher inspiration, flows In grateful praises to the throne of Love. And so I cull its rarest gems and flowers To bless my mother, whom I love so well, And use its aspirations and its powers To guide her spirit home where angels dwell.