Rock Me to Sleep, Mother

This poem by Elizabeth Chase Allen was quite popular during the Civil War Era.  I ran across it recently and enjoyed it, hope you do too. – Clyde

Someone has set the first few verses to music.  Click the button to listen.

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BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, 
Make me a child again just for to-night! 
Mother, come back from the echoless shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore;

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;
— Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!


Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! 
I am so weary of toil and of tears,
— Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,
— Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,
— Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; 
Weary of sowing for others to reap;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, 
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you! 
Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain, 
Long I to-night for your presence again. 
Come from the silence so long and so deep;
— Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown, 
No love like mother-love ever has shone; 
No other worship abides and endures,
— Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. 
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep; 
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old; 
Let it drop over my forehead to-night, 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;
— Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
Since I last listened your lullaby song: 
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, 
With your light lashes just sweeping my face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;
— Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!