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The Wail of the Cornish Mother

By
Robert Stephen Hawker
1804 - 1875


&/\&/\&

They say 'tis a sin to sorrow,

That what God doth is best:

But 'tis only a month to-morrow

I buried it from my breast.
 

I know it should be a pleasure

Your child to God to send:

But mine was a precious treasure

To me and to my poor friend.
 

I thought it would call me Mother,

The very first words it said:

O,  I never can love another

Like the blessed babe that's dead.
 

Well !    God is its own dear Father;

It was carried to church, and bless'd;

And our Saviour's arms will gather

Such children to their rest.
 

I will make my best endeavour

That my sins may be forgiven;

I will serve God more than ever;

To meet my child in heaven.
 

I will check this foolish sorrow,

For what God doth is best ---

But O,  'tis a month to-morrow

I buried it from my breast !
 

&/\&/\&


 
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