Talk of the Heart — To My Son

My little one... my wonderful poem! What rapture makes my soul quiver now, as I read the little leaf your small fingers penned for me! How sweet these dainty, elegant letters, which you took such care to draw, letter by letter, to bring me the glad tidings of your success and your diligence!! Why, I wonder, do tears spring to my eyes? Can it be the overflow of that heavenly joy which flooded the heart and rushed forth, streaming in its course and watering all my feelings!

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My little one... my wonderful poem! In my struggle with life — that lonely, desolate, solitary struggle — I have won victories more than one; but not one of those victories swept over my soul with such a violent wave of feeling as was stirred by the news of your first triumph, conveyed to me in the innocence of your childhood... and in the writing of your own hand!

And I likened you, my darling, to a frail fledgling bird, resisting the storm with two wings that have not yet learned to fly, while his mother, at the bend of the mountain, alert and watchful, follows him with her heart and her eye; for the test of life has taught her that every stumble her fledgling takes before soaring gains him new strength, until his wings grow strong, and he beats the air with them, and becomes one of its eagles!

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Yes, an eagle of the sky I want you to be, my little one, whose way is to soar in the heights and over the summits... And I shall keep your little leaves with their dainty, elegant script, which record the news of your successive victories in the battles of study... From these victories you will build your character... and your matchless manhood.

Forward, then, my little one... until you grow up to be great — the pride of your nation... and of your mother.