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 hushaby,
And rocked me that I should not cry?
My
Mother.
Who
sat and watched my infant head,
When sleeping on 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
dressed my doll in clothes so gay,
And fondly taught me how to play,
And minded all I had to say?
My
Mother.
Who
ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My
Mother.
Who
taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God's holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My
Mother.
And
can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who was so very kind to me,
My
Mother.
Ah
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 grey,
My healthy arm 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.
For
could our Father in the skies
Look down with pleased or loving eyes,
If ever I could dare despise
My
Mother?
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