E.L. Cassanovia

Mid life’s commotions—dismal fears—
Mid cares and woes, and floods of tears,
How sweetly breaks upon the ear
Some words of comfort or of cheer;
Yet of our friends there’s not another
Who speaks as gently as our mother.

Here disappointments crowd each day,
Our brightest hopes soon fade away,
And friends long trusted oft deceive;
We scarcely know whom to believe,
Yet, though we fear to trust each other,
We’re not afraid to trust our mother.

Yet here where there’s so much deceit,
Some friends we have we love to meet;
There’s love we know that will endure,
Not sordid, selfish, but all pure;
But though beloved by sister, brother,
There’s none that love us like our mother.

Among the names to mortals given,
There’s none like mother, home and heaven;
For home’s no home without her care;
And heaven, we know she will be there;
Then let us, while we love each other,
Remember and be kind to mother.

Share this post on:

Explore These Topics: