The Mother

I do not grudge them: Lord, I do not grudge
My two strong sons that  I have seen go out
To break their strength and die, they and a few,
In bloody protest for a glorious thing
They shall be spoken of among their people,
The generations shall remember them,
And call them blessed;
But I will speak their names to my own heart
In the long nights;
The little names that were familiar once
Round my dead hearth.
Lord though art hard on mothers:
We suffer in their coming and their going;
And tho’ I grudge then not,
I weary, weary
Of the long sorrow - And yet I have my joy:
My sons were faithful, and they fought.

Patrick Pearse