T H E L A D I E S '   R E P O S I T O R Y .

M A R C H,   1 8 4 7 .

      MOTHER, what pure, what hallowed associations linger around thy name! Thou wert the joy of my life, ere thou departed; and even now thou hast a sure abiding place in the halls of memory. Years may change all things else--time may consign them to the dark chambers of oblivion--the remembrance of friends may become dim, and every vestige of many whom we have known and loved may be effaced from the tablet of memory; but thy dear image will never depart. At the call of busy fancy, it will start up with life-like vividness before me--years vanish as by some magic spell--the cares and toils of manhood are all forgotten--I live no longer in the present; but I dwell in the bright, the sunny past--I become again a creature of pure feelings and impulses--a very child.

      Mother, it was thy voice which, in infancy, hushed me to rest, before the stain of sin had fallen on my soul, or guilt had sullied the purity of my young spirit. It was at thy side I first learned to lisp forth my infantile prayer, to clasp the hand, to bow the knee, and, with child-like simplicity and sincerity, to take into my mouth the holiest words. Thy lips taught me those lessons of virtue, which all the waywardness of after years has failed wholly to efface; for when temptation spread around me her blandishments, when folly, in its myriad forms, presented itself before me, the remembrance of thy teaching, like a guardian angel, would waken the better feelings of my heart, and lead me, even when partially estrayed, from sin and folly to repentance and tears.

      Yet she has departed. The light of her eye has faded, and the music of her gentle voice has been hushed in the silence of the tomb. But, though dead, she still speaks; and, even now, there is no name on earth which can raise in my bosom such varied emotions. Her reproofs, while living, have often melted me into tears; and yet the remembrance of any unkindness, or youthful waywardness of mine, will cast a gloom over my spirit. [74]

      But far more powerful than her living words are those which seem at times to rise from the dwelling place of the dead--words which strike not the outward ear, but which are heard in the inmost recesses of the heart. I have heard those words stealing over my spirit, amid the sounds of mirth and revelry, when my heart was elate with joy--when I had almost yielded to the syren voice of pleasure, and, intoxicated with delight, had nearly become her willing captive. I have then turned away from the gay throng to hide the feelings which were busy at my heart, and the tear that was trembling in my eye. I have left such scenes at an angel's bidding--from the noise of revelry, to think on the lessons that my mother once taught me. I have heard those low, soft tones come stealing upon me, at the solemn hour of midnight, filling my mind with pure and holy thoughts--my heart with emotions too deep for utterance. At such moments, I have looked forth on the quiet face of heaven, studded with its innumerable stars, which, though silent, seemed speaking to me of peace and purity, and which, by their distance from this sin-stained earth, appeared fit abodes for spirits like hers.

      With tearful eye I have often turned from a scene like this, with my feelings purified and my heart made better, by this secret and silent communion. I could not repress the thought, that, if happy spirits can look down on the abodes of guilt and sorrow, hers, at such a moment, would cast a look from its radiant sphere, and whisper to my spirit to meet her among the blest, where the blighting influences of sin and sorrow are for ever unknown--where peace and purity have their eternal abode.

      Mother, though departed, thy grave is to me a silent monitor. It bids me remember the lessons thou hast taught--to practice the virtues thy example placed before me--to follow on to the bright world which is now the home of thy spirit. Mother! watcher of my helpless infancy! dear counselor of my riper years! the remembrance of thee shall never depart--no pursuit, however dear--honor, wealth, or fame, shall ever cause me to forget; but, amid fortune's smiles, or the chill blasts of adversity, flushed by bright hopes, or depressed by "corroding cares," thou shalt ever be a resting-place, on which memory shall often delight to linger.

      Mother! dearest name on earth! name ever to be cherished while life shall last, as thy name was first uttered by my lips in infancy, in the final hour, my last look shall be up to God--my last thought of heaven and thee.

[The Ladies' Repository 7 (March 1847): 74-75.]

      William Baxter's "My Mother" was first published in The Ladies' Repository, and Gatherings of the West: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to Literature and Religion, Vol. 7, No. 3, March 1847, pp. 74-75. This volume, edited by B. F. Tefft, was published in Cincinnati by L. Swormstedt and J. T. Mitchell and in New York by G. Lane and C. B. Tippett for the Methodist Episcopal Church.

      Pagination in the electronic version has been represented by placing the page number in brackets following the last complete word on the printed page.

      Addenda and corrigenda are earnestly solicited.

Ernie Stefanik
Derry, PA

Created 10 April 2000.
Updated 28 June 2003.