There’s music in a mother’s voice more sweet than breezes sighing,
There’s kindness in a mother’s glance too pure for ever dying;
There’s love within a mother’s breast so deep ’tis overflowing,
And care for those she calls her own that’s ever, ever growing.
There’s anguish in a mother’s tear, when farewell fondly taking,
That so the heart of pity moves, it scarcely keeps from breaking,
And when a mother kneels to Heaven and for her child is praying,
O! who shall half the fervor tell that breathes in all she’s saying?
A mother, how her tender arts can soothe the breast of sadness,
And through the bloom of life once more bid shine the sun of gladness;
A mother, when like evening’s star, her course hath ceased before us,
From brighter worlds regards us still and watches fondly o’er us.