MY MOTHER.
Who was it when my infant breath Was pure as angels' own,Watched o'er me with such tender care And soothed my every moan? My Mother.
Who taught my prattling baby lips To lisp my prayers at morn;Who strewed my earthly path with flowers And buried every thorn? My Mother.
Who, when the bright-red buds of youth Are bursting into bloom,Entreats me to remember well That God may call them soon? My Mother.
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