Who that has languished, even in advanced
life, in sickness and despondency, who that has pined on a weary
bed in the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land, but has
thought on the mother "that looked on his childhood," that
smoothed his pillow, and administered to his helplessness? Oh,
there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son,
that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither
to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened
by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice
every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every
pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame and exult
in his prosperity; and, if misfortune overtake him, he will be
the dearer to her from misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon
his name, she will still love and cherish him in spite of his
disgrace; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be
all the world to him.
Poor George Somers had known what it was to be in sickness, and
none to soothe--lonely and in prison, and none to visit him. He
could not endure his mother from his sight; if she moved away,
his eye would follow her. She would sit for hours by his bed
watching him as he slept.
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