They talk of a mother's toil and care,
Of the tasks that her hands must do,
Of the furrows that creep o'er the brow once fair,
Of the burdens and heartaches too.
But they know not the joy stitched in each little dress,
The pattering footsteps that brighten and bless,
The thrill of a baby's loving caress---
Ah, nobody knows but Mother.
They talk of her narrow and humble place,
The monotonous life she leads,
While others are learning and growing apace,
And doing such wonderful deeds.
But they know not the mystery deep that lies,
Hidden away in a baby's eyes,
And every day brings a fresh surprise,
That nobody sees but Mother.
There was never a task by the Father given,
That brought not its blessing too,
And the life that liest the nearest Heaven,
Was given, oh, Mother, to you.
The task is great, but the joy is sweet,
The hours of prayer bring a faith complete,
And the highest wisdom our life can meet,
Lies hid in the heart of a Mother.