The Wail of the Cornish Mother
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 !