The silvery hairs are weaving
A crown above her brow,
But surely mother never seemed
One-half so sweet as now!
The love-light beams from out her eyes
As clear, as sweet and true,
As when, with youthful beauty crowned,
Life bloomed for her all new.
No thought of self doth ever cast
A cloudlet o'er the light
That shines afar from out her soul,
So steadfast, pure, and bright.
Her love illumes the darkest hour,
Smooths all the rugged way,
Makes lighter every burden,
Cheers through each weary day.
More precious than the rarest gem
In all the world could be;
More sweet than honor, fame, and praise,
Is mother's love to me.