Out of the vastness I heard a voice That echoed from sea to sea, Singing the song of the olden years, The song of the years to be; Tender and sad, as it sought its way, Through hovel to banquet hall, Seeking for those who would understand, The love of the mother call. * * * * * * * I see you in turreted mansions, My children of long ago, I see you as derelicts drifting, As wrecks on the rivers flow; And I call, with a soul o'erflowing, Forsaken, but yearning yet, To hold you again to my bosom, The child I can ne'er forget. Long have I waited for your return As faces have come and gone, Long have I brooded o'er silent camps, 'Midst trails that your feet have worn: Waiting in vain, for I see you now Too old for the lonely trail, And I in my sorrow must leave you, My children, who did not fail. Fain would I hold you close to my breast, My child of the vanished years, Where is the love that is true as mine, Mingled with sorrowing tears? Ah, how I miss you, mid'st faces new, True, daring, but not the same, 'Tis you, ever you, who have left me Alone who can soothe my pain. When they shall come, and shall speak your name, In honor, amid my gloom, Then will I fight as a she-wolf fights, To guard them against the doom; For you were my children before them, Your dreams shall be theirs again, And I, whom you followed, will cherish The men who shall breathe your name. Farewell, as I leave you in sorrow, Yet joy, for your stent is done; Farewell, till I greet you through others Who further your toil begun. O'er trails where we wrought together No more shall your footsteps wend, But I in the silence shall wait you, Rewarding you at the end. * * * * * * * I saw the eye that was growing dim, Re-kindle with golden fire, As memories wakened of long ago-- The chords of the old desire; I saw the figure, so bent and old, That soon must forever fall, Gaze wistfully thro' the vanished years, Revering the mother call. She warned the ones who should seek her coasts Of perils and shadows drear, Of the fears undreamed that o'ershadow The way of the pioneer; She promised naught, but whatever Her children had sought before, The hunger, silence, and p'raps the grave, Her legacies evermore. For the mother calls, and her sons obey, Well knowing her love sincere, That lures them on o'er the crag and fen, Protecting them from the fear; 'Tis the men who know who are faithful, When others have cursed her trails, That her love is but for her children, Her anger for he who quails.