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 still o'erflowing,
And for her own a tender care,
That 's ever, ever growing.
And when a mother kneels to heaven,
And for her child is praying,
Oh, who shall half the fervour tell
That burns in all she 's saying!
A mother, when she, like a star,
Sets into heaven before us,
From that bright home of love, all pure,
Still minds and watches o'er us.