“Her children arise up, and call her blessed.”
MOTHER dear, thy words I cherish,
Words though spoken long ago;
Never will their mem'ry perish,
Always dear in weal or woe.
Gray hairs now my years are telling,
Mental powers are fading fast;
But my heart, with fondness swelling,
Loves to linger o'er the past.
Mother dear, that oft I grieved thee
Thy kind, sorrowing looks betrayed;
When by falsehood I deceived thee,
Or thy precepts disobeyed.
Oh, it fills my heart with sadness,
When my follies I retrace:
Thee I should have filled with gladness,
Thee to grieve was vile and base.
Love's own lips alone did chide me;
Love, not passion, used thy rod;
Firm thy rule; thy aim to guide me
In the ways that lead to God:
“Oh, my son, thou must obey me!
God has said it in his word;
Hate it were, not love, to spare thee,
When thou dost displease my Lord.”
Mother dear, thy lips first taught me
To pronounce His blessed name,
Who with His own blood had bought me,
And from heaven to seek me came.
Hymns, and texts, and holy warnings,
Stories sweet of saints of old;
How those beams of childhood's mornings
Fringe life's evening hours with gold!
Oft my fancy sees thee kneeling,
While I slumbered, by my bed;
Thy rapt face thy love revealing,
Seeking blessings on my head:
When in foreign climes residing,
Graven deep thy words remained;
Memory of thy tears abiding,
Oft thy tempted child restrained.
Mother dear, thy prayers, ascended
In that name God loves to hear,
Now in blessings have descended,
On each son and daughter dear;
And their children share the blessing
Of the training thou hast given:
Each by grace, "like faith," possessing,
Hope to meet thee soon in heaven.