My Favorite People Call Me Omi

My favorite people call me Omi

Sought counsel and work, was angel and piano,

Filled with a hymn for every leaf and flower,

Caressing the living like her hours away,

Pausing from watchful counsel, for her discipline,

Brightly assisted by her changeless precious flock.

Fresh was her picture with a tireless Mother,

Turned to a faithful picture in her native vales,

Surprised by her own blessings, in that fellowship

Across her gentle roof, and gratefully beheld

Each kindling feature of the Woman's smile

Caressing, as a grateful visit to his child

Went to peaceful slumber, a motherly smile

All night upon her pillow for a little while.

Sometimes in an audible voice she calmly came,

Softly ever kneeling beside some lofty word

Might a new echo from thy native land assuage—

Wherein thy life dwelt in its deep admiration,

Softly glided the thoughts that were thy much homage,

Delightful were the only lessons of each heart.

She beheld it flowing If a visions of trade,

Although it dwelt in that repulsive element,

Right would be the comforter of imitation,

Each kindling feature of the clearness of life.

Here a serene disciple, there a secret love.

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