BROTHER, while the breath of even Woos the starry eyes of heaven; And the stealthy shadows, creeping, Softly as an infant's sleeping, Seem but as the brooding fancies, Which the poet's soul entrances, When the outward world is turning Dark beneath his spirit's burning; Then I stand amid the shrouding Memories on my vision crowding; Then I see our sainted mother – Thou art with me, too, my brother. Brother, would, that I were near thee, Whispering warmer words to cheer thee; Happy as in cheerful childhood, When we wandered through the wildwood; Finding only pleasant places, . Filling all with fairy faces; Sending on our songs before us, Till the rocks returned the chorus – Till the brook, our bourne of travel, With its wealth of glistening gravel, Reached – of mines we sought none other – Oh, how rich we were, my brother! Brother, dost thou not remember, Through one cloudy, cold December, How we counted Christmas coming? All its promised pleasures summing, Softly – lest our mother's sleeping Should be broken? Often creeping 'Neath the curtain's close enfolding, And her sad. sweet face beholding, While she slumbered? Never dreaming, When the happy morn was beaming, Heaven's bright dawn would wake our mother We be left alone, my brother ! Brother, as the past comes o'er me, Holy visions float before me; We are children still, and keeping Watch beside our mother, sleeping. And her life of love and duty Folds us with its heavenly beauty; And her faith, like light shed downward, Draws our faltering footsteps onward; – Orphans though the world oppress thee, And its wearing woes distress me, Never, while we love each other, And are worthy of our mother, Shall we live unblessed, my brother.