The Ring My Mother Wore

The earth has many treasures rare
In gems and golden ore;
My heart hath one, more precious far,
The ring my mother wore.
I saw it first when I, a child
Was playing by her side;
She told me then ’twas father’s gift
When she became his bride.

I saw it oft in sorrow’s hours
Which marked the after years,
When shining on the soft, white hand
That wiped away my tears.
And, O! I saw it once again
When, on her dying bed,
She lifted up her hand in prayer
And ‘laid it on my head.

Beside that bed, where fell my tears,
The ring to me was given;
She placed it on my hand and said,
“We’ll meet again in heaven.”
I kissed the cheek I oft had pressed
From which the rose had fled;
And, bowed with grief, stood motherless,
Alond, beside the dead.

Among the blest in realms above,
Where sorrows are unknown,
O may I meet my mother dear,
No more to weep alone,
Her dying words of love and faith
I’ll cherish evermore
Within the heart which holds so dear
The wing my mother wore.


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