When Monica's young son had felt her kiss --Her weeping kiss -- for years, her sorrow flowedAt last into his wilful blood; he owedTo her his after-life of truth and bliss:And her own joy, what words, what thoughts could paint!When o'er his soul, with sweet constraining force,Came Penitence -- a fusion from remorse --And made her boy a glorious Christian saint.Oh ye, who tend the young through doubtful yearsAlong the busy path from birth to death,Parents and friends! forget not in your fearsThe secret strength of prayer, the holy breathThat swathes your darlings! think how Austin's faithRose like a star upon his mother's tears!
St. Augustine and Monicawritten by
Turner Charles (Tennyson)
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)