Poems (Sharpless)/Mother Earth

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MOTHER EARTH
Borne on thy broad brown bosom, mother earth, Among the stars we fly,While dark with woe, or gay with hope and mirth The wingèd Hours sweep by.
Thou blind, mysterious mother of our race, With throbbing heart and brainI seek the meaning on thy changing face Of all life's woe and pain.
But all in vain; thy transmutations strange In one wide circle caught,Tell us of change, of birth, of death—but change That paralyzes thought.
Rocked on thy bosom, lo! our little life Flees like a troubled dream;Then folded in thy arms from pain and strife We sleep by wood or stream.
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Thine is the fading frame, at last to pass In thy capacious breastInto, perchance, some flow'ret of the grass, Around a wild bird's nest.
But never thine this ardent, living soul That clings to thee, yet spurns thy utmost bliss—A Prince disherited that yields control To nought that lower is.
To perfect purpose, see thy tiniest bud And smallest leaf unroll;—But never to its utmost height of good Hath reached a human soul.
That feeble, royal chrysalis shall yet Unfold afar, in holier realms above;While thou, a planet dead, for aye has set, We live in God's dear love.
Oh! love and thanks, first mother of our race; The dearer that we know,We are thy foster children for a space, Ere to our Home we go.
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