At early morn a mother stood, Her hands were raised to heaven. And she praised Almighty God For the blessings He had given; But far too deep were they Encircled in her heart,-- Too deep for human weal, For earth and love must part. She looked with hope too bright On the forms that by her bent, And loved, by far too fondly, Those treasures God had sent. They bound her to the earth, With love's own golden chain, How were its bright links severed By the spirit's wildest pain? She parted the rich tresses, And kissed each snowy brow, And where, oh! happy mother, Was one so blest as thou? The summer sun was shining All cloudless o'er the lea, When forth her children bounded, In childhood's summer glee. They strayed along the woody banks, All fringed with sunny green, Where, like a silver serpent, The river ran between. Their glad young voices rose, As they thought of flower or bird, And they sang the joyous fancies That in each spirit stirred. Oh! sister, see that humming bird; Saw ye ever ought so fair? With wings of gold and ruby, He sparkles through the air; Let us follow where he flies O'er yonder hazel dell, For oh! it must be beautiful Where such a thing can dwell. Yet to me it seemeth still, That his rest must be on high; Methinks his plumes are bathed In the even's crimson sky: How lovely is this earth, Where such fair things we see, And yet how much more glorious The power that bids them be! Nay, sister, let us stay Where those water lilies float, So spotless and so pure Like a fairy's pearly boat. Listen to the melody That cometh soft and low, As through the twining tendrils The water glides below. Perchance 'twas in a spot like this, And by a stream as mild, Where the Jewish mother laid Her gentle Hebrew child. Then rested they beneath the trees, Where, through the leafy shade, In ever-changing radiance, The broken sun-light played; And spoke in words, whose simple truth Revealed the guileless soul, Till softly o'er their senses A quiet slumber stole. Lo! now a form comes glancing Along the waters blue, And moored among the lilies Lay an Indian's dark canoe. The days of ancient feud were gone. The axe was buried deep. And stilled the red man's warfare, In unawaking sleep. Why stands he then so silently, Where those fair children lie? And say, what means the flashing Of the Indian's eagle eye? He thinks him of his lonely spouse, Within her forest glade; Around her silent dwelling No children ever played. No voice arose to greet him When he at eve would come, But sadness ever hovered Around his dreary home. Oh! with those lovely rose-buds Were my lone hearth-stone blest, My richest food should cheer them, My softest furs should rest. Their kindred drive us onward, Where the setting sunbeams shine; They claim our father's heritage, Why may not these be mine? He raised the sleeping children, Oh! sad and dreary day! And o'er the dancing waters He bore them far away. He wiled their hearts' young feelings With words and actions kind, And soon the past went fading All dream-like from their mind.