Huddersfield Chronicle (05/Sep/1891) - A Mother's Lament

The following is a transcription of a historic newspaper article and may contain occasional errors. If the article was published prior to 1 June 1957, then the text is likely in the Public Domain.


How happy we, last Whitsuntide,
   For thou wert sitting by my side.
So welcome to thy native home,
   My daughter dear, my hope and pride.
I gazed upon thy smiling face,
   And for thy future felt no fear ;
Fill'd with a fond maternal love,
   I thought that thou had no compeer.
What poor, short-sighted mortals we,
   At best, now little we can tell ;
I dreamt not, when I kiss'd thy cheek,
   That we had breathed our last farewell.
When to thy distant Linthwaite home,
   With tearful eyes thou didst depart,
I did my best to hide my grief
   And smile farewell, though sad at heart.
How oft at night I've thought of thee
   And asked a blessing on thy head ;
But, now I'm tempted to despair,
   For thou art resting with the dead.
Oh, God ! that ought in manhood's form
   Should do such foul and fiendish wrong.
That brutal passion should prevail
   The weak be tortured by the strong.
While mourning o'er thy cruel fate
   My brain is fill'd with frenzy wild,
And, half demented, I exclaim
   "Base monster! give me back my child."
And in my agony I crave
   A curse upon the villain's head,
Who rob'd my darling child of life
   Then from the hands of justice fled.
Exhausted, conquered, sick at heart,
   I bow my head and humbly pray
That God will help me in my need,
   And take this bitter cross away.
Then dimly I begin to see
   How useless 'tis to sigh and mourn,
That my dear child has gone for aye,
   And never, never can return.
A ray of hope dispels the gloom,
   For faith and reason whisper me,
"Still do thy duty till life's end,
   And you shall reunited be."
Life's trials are the stepping-stones
   By which our victories are won,
And I must learn to bear my cross,
   And humbly say, "Thy will be done."

Newsome, September 1st, 1891