I thought this might be appropriate. A little bit of Irish history, but as a mother might see it. I can only imagine the pride and sorrow which must have filled the heart of Margaret Pearse when she lost her two sons. And how this poem must have pierced her soul.
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, thou art hard on mothers:
We suffer in their coming and their going;
And tho' I grudge them not, I weary, weary
Of the long sorrow-And yet I have my joy:
My sons were faithful, and they fought.
~ Patrick Henry Pearse