When fevered with the fret of life and toil,
The strife of living, the day's turmoil,
How do we yearn, so deeply and so much,
To feel again the healing of her touch.
When bitter in defeat, by failure stung,
When from the heart, hot, careless words are flung,
How thought brings back, our dark moods to beguile,
The pleased, reproving laughter in her smile!
Ah, Mothers, little do you know or guess
How in out secret hearts your name we bless;
How you are present through life's joys and tears,
Forgotten not through life's increasing years