 A MOTHER'S SONG by Anna Hempstead Branch Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachuk I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears, so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow, beyond his mother's ken, and half a stranger he will go, among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache, with wounds I cannot guess. His little pain to bear a child, beside this other woe. To feel the helplessness, to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken, by stranger hands I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. For chance the smiles I spend on thee, may help that stranger live. On housed, along a barren road, I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me. That now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's ken, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache, whence I cannot guess. It is little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. I close, I close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken, by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give, for chance to smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. On house, along a barn road, I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's sheam is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me. That now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. A mother's song by Anna Hempstead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Chris Pyle. I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's kin, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief. His separate bitterness, my heart will break if his mistake with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark he journeys on alone. By close, by close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. For chance to smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. And in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. Into poem this recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hempstead Branch Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence I have not yet known Mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears, so swiftly eased by me. I know when time my son shall grow beyond his mother's can, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a Mother's grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache with wounds I cannot guess. His little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. I close, I close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. Perchance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me. That now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hempstead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Frank Teft. I have not yet known Mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child I can smile above the tears, so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's kin, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. When I shall know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness, my heart will break of his mistake with wounds I cannot guess. To his little bane to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. This heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. Perchance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road, I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me. That now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. A mother's song by Anna Hempstead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Garfield de Souza. I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile about the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's skin, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache, with wounds I cannot guess. This little pain to bear a child beside this other war, to feel the helplessness to soothe the warrant that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. I close, I close my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. Per chance to smiles I spend on thee, may help that stranger live. Unhoused, along a barren road I hear a pilgrim beep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hempstead Branch Read for LibriVox.org by Guyan Murthy on the 9th of May 2020 in El Paso, Texas. I have not yet known Mother's Grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's ken, and have a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a Mother's Grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. Perchance of smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is a little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me. But now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A MOTHER'S SONG by Anna Hempstead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Graham Scott, Cheltenham, England, GrahamScottAudio.com I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. But I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's ken, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. Perchance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow, but in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. A mother's song by Anna Hempstead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Kaley G. I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's kin, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness, my heart will break if his must ache with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. Perchance the smiles I spend on thee, may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road, I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is a little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow, but in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Mother's Song by Anna Hempstead Branch Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson I have not yet known a mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's ken, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. When shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness? My heart will break if his mistake, with wounds I cannot guess. Does little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so? I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for a help I may not give. For chance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road, I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hemstad Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Kabyat. I have not yet known Mother's Grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me, and know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's ken, and half a stranger he will go, among the world of men. Then shall I know a Mother's Grief, her separate bitterness, my heart will break at his must ache with wounds I cannot guess. Tis little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone, like close, like close my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by strangers' hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give, but chance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road I hear a pilgrim weep, but in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow, but in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hempstead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Nima. I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears, so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow, beyond his mother's ken, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness, my heart will break if his must ache with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken, my stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. For chance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road, I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee not asleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help for me that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hempstead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf. I have not yet known Mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's can, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a Mother's grief, its separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache, with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child, beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, each journey's on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands. I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. For chance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road I hear a pilgrim weep, but in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow, but in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hempstead Branch Read for LibriVox.org by R. W. Raptor I have not yet known Mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears, so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's ken, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his mistake with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Like close, like close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, the help I may not give. The chance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is our new name, the kiss I give thee now. But when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me. That now while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Hemsdead Branch, read for LibriVox.org by Socks for Tay. I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. Child, I can smile above the tears, so swiftly eased by me. I know in time my son shall grow beyond his mother's can, and half a stranger he will go among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, his separate bitterness. My heart will break if his must ache with wounds I cannot guess. To his little pain to bear a child besides this other woe, to feel the helplessness to soothe the want that griefs him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, he journeys on alone. Lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet thou art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands. I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need for help I may not give. For chance the smiles I spend on thee may help that stranger live. Unhoused, along a barren road, I hear a pilgrim weep. But in his heart is the little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's shame is sealed upon his brow. But in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me, that now, while he is all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Mother's Song by Anna Henstead Branch, read fully provoked to RG by Soumya. I have not yet known mother's grief, for I can comfort thee. As a child, I can smile about the tears, so swiftly ease by me. I know in time my son shall grow, beyond his mother's can, and half a stranger he will go, among the world of men. Then shall I know a mother's grief, to separate bitterness. My heart be break with his must ache, with wounds I cannot guess. It is little pain to bear a child, beside this other woe, to feel the helplessness to suit the one that grieves him so. I hear a man cry in the dark, his journey so alone, lie close, lie close, my little son, while yet to art my own. His heart is broken by stranger hands, I may not give him rest. My darling one, my child, my son, I hold thee on my breast. The heart in him is sick with need, for help I may not give. For chance the smiles I spend on thee may help a stranger live. Unhoused along a barren road, I hear a pilgrim beep, but in his heart is a little song that sings thee now to sleep. The bitter brand of this world's flame is sealed upon his brow, but in his hand is a new name, the kiss I give thee now. For when my child is grown, is grown, he'll get this help from me. That now, while he's all my own, I rock him on my knee. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain.