Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My mother.
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet lullaby
And rocked me that I should not cry?
My mother.
Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping in my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My mother.
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept, for fear that I should die?
My mother.
Who ran to help me when I fell
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the part to make it well?
My mother.
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
To love God’s holy word and day,
And walk in wisdom’s pleasant way?
My mother.
And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee
Who wast so very kind to me,—
My mother.
Oh, no, the thought I cannot bear;
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My mother.
When thou art feeble, old and gray,
My healthy arms shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My mother.
And when I see thee hang thy head,
‘Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,—
My mother.