4. To F. W. N. A Birthday Offering DEAR Frank, this morn has usher'd in The manhood of thy days; A boy no more, thou must begin To choose thy future ways; To brace thy arm, and nerve thy heart, For maintenance of a noble part. And thou a voucher fair hast given, Of what thou wilt achieve, Ere age has dimm'd thy sun-lit heaven, In weary life's chill eve; Should Sovereign Wisdom in its grace Vouchsafe to thee so long a race. My brother, we are link'd with chain That time shall ne'er destroy; Together we have been in pain, Together now in joy; For duly I to share may claim The present brightness of thy name. My brother, 'tis no recent tie Which binds our fates in one, E'en from our tender infancy The twisted thread was spun; Her deed, who stored in her fond mind Our forms, by sacred love enshrined. In her affection all had share, All six, she loved them all; Yet on her early-chosen Pair Did her full favour fall; [n.] And we became her dearest theme, Her waking thought, her nightly dream. Ah! brother, shall we e'er forget Her love, her care, her zeal? We cannot pay the countless debt, But we must ever feel; For through her earnestness were shed Prayer-purchased blessings on our head. Though in the end of days she stood, And pain and weakness came, Her force of thought was unsubdued, Her fire of love the same; And e'en when memory fail'd its part, We still kept lodgment in her heart. And when her Maker from the thrall Of flesh her spirit freed, No suffering companied the call, In mercy 'twas decreed, One moment here, the next she trod The viewless mansion of her God. Now then at length she is at rest, And, after many a woe, Rejoices in that Saviour blest Who was her hope below; Kept till the day when He shall own His saints before His Father's throne. So it is left for us to prove Her prayers were not in vain; And that God's grace-according love Has come as gentle rain, Which, falling in the vernal hour, Tints the young leaf, perfumes the flower. Dear Frank, we both are summon'd now As champions of the Lord; Enroll'd am I, and shortly thou Must buckle on thy sword; A high employ, nor lightly given, To serve as messengers of heaven! Deep in my heart that gift I hide; I change it not away For patriot-warrior's hour of pride, Or statesman's tranquil sway; For poet's fire, or pleader's skill To pierce the soul and tame the will. O! may we follow undismay'd Where'er our God shall call! And may His Spirit's present aid Uphold us lest we fall! Till in the end of days we stand, As victors in a deathless land.
Chiswick . June 27, 1826.
Note
Of course the allusion is not to the author's mother; a mother has no favourites.